Summer of Hurt Sam
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: Formerly called "31 Days of Hurt Sam". A collection of various summertime hurt!Sam stories. Requests are CLOSED! Chapter 24: "Sometimes it worried me at just how clumsy my boyfriend really was."
1. At the Beach

_**Author's Note: **__Welcome to the 1st annual "31 Days of Hurt Sam" where I write hurt!Sam stories based on prompts given by you! Got a summer related prompt that you want to see turned into a story? Have a plot bunny that's bouncing in your brain, but you're too busy to deal with it? Then, you're in the right place. For the month of May, I will be writing little hurt!Sam stories based on prompts you give me. So, how do you submit a prompt, you ask? It's really simple! Just leave a review with what you would like. Prompts can consist of a word (example: jet skis), a first line or phrase (example: Castiel was beginning to notice that summer was Sam's least favorite season) or a situation (example: Sam and Dean are at the beach hunting a water spirit that's been drowning people. All seems to be going well until the spirit gets ahold of Sam. Cue Dean to the rescue.). _

_**In order for your prompt to be filled, please observe the following ground rules:**_

_First, I am a Gen author. __**I don't write slash of any kind**__**.**__ Sorry! I do accept cannon pairings though._

_Second, I only write stories T and below. __**Do not give me an M-rated prompt**__**.**__ Nothing about rape or lemons or anything like that!_

_Third, __**Sam must be hurt in this story**__. You can be specific about what you want Sam to endure (example: sunstroke) or you can leave it up to me. Either way, Sam will be the one that gets the brunt of the hurt and someone else will take care of him._

_ Fourth, there is a theme that must be followed. That theme is summer. __**Your prompt must have something to do with this theme.**__ It can be any aspect of summer, just make sure that you pick something when you submit your prompt._

_ Please __**DO NOT submit multiple prompts**__. I will only do one. If you have many ideas and you want me to choose, just list them all and state whether you have a preference. If not, I will pick the one that appeals to me. _

_ And lastly, prompts are fulfilled the in the order they are submitted. __**I will only be accepting 31 prompts (one for each day of May) so get yours in early!**_

_ Now that we've gotten that out of the way, I hope you enjoy this opening chapter. I look forward to getting your prompts! If you have any questions, feel free to ask! If you would like to look at some examples of fics I have done based on prompts, you can check out "25 days of Hurt Sam" which followed the same rules as this, but had a Holiday theme. Have fun, guys! _

_ So, we'll set this pre-series, during Sam's time at Stanford. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_It's a smile, it's a kiss_

_It's a sip of wine, it's summertime_

_Sweet summertime."_

—_Kenny Chesney, "Summertime"_

* * *

"He's cute, don't you think?" Amber asked with a small smirk and Jess just shook her head, wondering yet again, why she had been dragged to the beach with her roommate. Don't get her wrong, Jess loved the beach, but she wasn't looking for a relationship right now and frankly, she'd rather be swimming than lying on a rough towel in the sand while watching stupid guys try to impress them. She had dated one of their types in high school—you know, the guy obsessed with his looks and treats his girlfriend more as arm candy than a person.

"Nope." Jess grimaced and sat up, rubbing her shoulders. She was certain that she had put enough sunscreen on, but judging from how hot her skin was that it had worn off or Amber had been mistaken about how high the SPF was.

"Jessica," Amber began in a warning tone. "You're not being fun, you know?"

"Why can't we just go swimming?" The blonde complained. "I told you that I wasn't interested—"

"In a relationship," Her friend continued, taking her sunglasses off and placing them on top of her auburn hair. "But, the truth is, Brady said he would meet us here and—"

"Brady!" Jess exclaimed. "No wonder you dragged me out here then." It was no secret that Amber had fallen head over heels for Brady, another sophomore that was in their English class. Jess liked him well enough, but she hadn't had a chance to get to know him really. "So, what? I'm the third wheel?" The last thing she wanted was to be the odd one out.

"No, of course not," Her close friend replied quickly, a reassuring smile tugging at her pink lips. "He's bringing his roommate along. Sam Winchester is his name, I think."

"Sam Winchester," Jessica echoed, shaking her head. "Amber, I told you that I did not—"

"Would you stop being a killjoy?" The brunette chided. "Just give him a chance, okay? You never know what could happen." With her piece said, she put back on her sunglasses and laid down on the towel.

Jessica just pouted.

* * *

Sam Winchester was . . . well, tall for lack of a better word. He was handsome though, and Jess could see why Amber would've attempted pair them up. Though he didn't have his shirt off—that fact made her kind of sad, though she wasn't sure why since she was content with being single, thank you very much—it was obvious from his appearance that he was quite muscular. An athlete perhaps? He was also quiet and a bit shy. When Brady introduced them, Sam made eye contact for only a few seconds before ducking his head and practically hiding under long bangs. It slightly annoyed Jessica, but she had resolved to grin and bear it, for Amber's sake. Her friend was clearly thrilled at being by Brady's side and from the looks of things, Brady was happy to have Amber around as well.

The duo then promptly ditched the two of them to go have their own fun in the sun.

Ah, summer love.

"So, uh, Sam?" His hazel eyes met hers and Jessica found herself smiling without meaning to. He hadn't really relaxed completely and she wondered if he was nervous. Jess felt slightly self-conscious in her white bikini, but she was determined to salvage this day and if she had to drag Sam Winchester along, so be it. "What are you majoring in?"

She might as well had said, "Nice weather we're having, huh?"

But something lit up in Sam's eyes and she watched as he came alive, discussing his plans for law school. He began to lighten up and Jess found herself doing so as well. The more Sam talked, the more Jess found herself warming up to this shy stranger. He cared deeply about making a difference in the world—he wanted to be a public defender—and she found herself nodding along to what he was saying.

Things went smoother after that.

Jess soon found that she had a lot more in common with Sam Winchester than previously thought. He was a secret fan of Spanish Soap Operas—thank God because she had thought she was the only one who had watched them—and they both loved to read. She told him about her plans to become a writer and he cheered them on—the first positive reaction she had ever gotten from someone, besides her family. She hated to admit it—especially after the show she put on for Amber about being happy being single—but she was falling for this mysteriously shy guy. He had grown on her and she found herself wanting to spend more time with him.

And just as they were about to possibly cross into the "I really like you and I possibly might want to date you" zone, it happened.

In hindsight, it probably would've been better to have their conversation closer to the water, instead of the net set up on the shore, but she had been so taken in by Sam that she honestly hadn't paid any attention to it.

Which is, of course why a volleyball chose that precise moment to hit Sam straight in the head.

Hard.

He staggered back, a dazed look in his eyes and Jess instantly reached forward to grab his arm to steady him. She glared at the muscled idiots who had possibly ruined her chance of becoming something more to Sam and they stayed their distance, seemingly frightened by her.

"Sam, are you okay?" He blinked at her a few times and she wondered if he had a concussion or worse. "Sam?"

"Dean?" He asked and Jessica tilted her head to the side. Dean? Who the hell was Dean? Sam wasn't . . . if he was gay, she was going to kill Amber! "Dad?" He kept blinking and it occurred to her that perhaps Dean was family. His brother, maybe?

God, please let it be his brother.

Because, contrary to what she had stated earlier, she was starting to fall for Sam Winchester.

"Sam, it's me, Jessica," She prompted, guiding him to her blanket and having him sit down. "You remember me?"

"My date," He echoed and a swell of pride flushed through her. "Brady said . . . you're pretty."

"Thanks," She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and grinned. No, he was straight—thank God! "Do you know where you are and what date it is?" A curt nod; she let out a sigh of relief she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Sam, you okay? Do you need me to get you some ice or—?"

"Jesus, Sam!" Brady exclaimed, running hand in hand with Amber.

"Oh my God, is he okay? We saw what happened." Amber met Jess' gaze and the blonde nodded.

"I think so," She confirmed. "It hit his head, but he knows what's going on and where he is."

"That's good." Amber breathed.

"Dude, I thought we talked about playing sports without me," Brady teased with a smirk. "After that stunt with the baseball team—"

"Shut up," Sam groaned, his eyes more focused on Jess than Brady. "You promised never to talk about it."

"About what?" Amber asked good-naturedly.

"Nope," Brady replied. "Sam will have to tell you ladies that story another time. Let's just say the bat ended up doing the same thing the volleyball did."

"Brady—" Sam hissed and his roommate laughed.

"Anyways," Brady began, offering his hand to Sam and pulling his up. "I'd better get Sam back before he causes anymore chaos."

"Oh." Jess whispered, disappointed.

"I'll see you Friday?" Amber questioned and Brady shot her a dazzling grin.

"You know it." The two then began to walk towards the parking lot, Brady's hand on Sam's back supporting him. As they passed Jess, Sam stopped suddenly.

"Sam?" Jess whispered.

"It was . . ." His face screwed up and he no doubt was having a hard time concentrating. "Nice to meet you."

"You too." She smiled warmly.

"I'll see you soon?" He asked and she wanted to throw her arms around him with joy.

"For sure." He grinned and then the two disappeared into Brady's car.

"So?" Amber began, hands on her hips in a clear, _I-told-you-so_ pose. Jess laughed.

"He's nice." She answered.

"Nice?" Amber echoed, patiently waiting for further details.

"I . . . I wouldn't mind seeing him again." She replied shyly.

And with a shriek of joy, Amber embraced her.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This piece got away from me and became more Jess/Sam than I had intended, but I liked it. So, please submit your prompts! I look forward to fulfilling them! Please review and request if you have a chance. Thanks! _


	2. Sunshine

_**Author's Note: **__Thank you so much for the amazing response after the first chapter! It's nice to see some familiar faces as well as new people reviewing/favoriting/following, etc. As of this posting, there are __**13**__ remaining spots for prompts, so please submit before those all get taken. Anyways, on to today's fabulous prompt! This is from __**Disasteriffic Kaz**__ who gave me this amazing first line, "It's funny. Carrying Dean's heavy ass all the way back to the car through sand in hundred degree heat hadn't seemed like such a bad idea at the time." I actually had a hard time coming up with a scenario for this one, but I really like what I came out with. I hope you do too! Thank you for the prompt!_

_ Let's set this in season 2, shall we?_

* * *

It's funny.

Carrying Dean's heavy ass all the way back to the car through sand in hundred degree heat hadn't seemed like such a bad idea at the time. It's not like it's even the worse situation he's ever been in, after all. That time he had to carry Dean during a blizzard with practically zero visibility and a pissed off Wendigo on their tail ranked higher on his list of "Most fucked up situations he had ever been". Really, this shouldn't have even been a problem.

Of course, whenever witches got involved, things tended to be screwed up much faster than they expected.

Case in point, Dean's sudden collapse. Sam's heart had nearly stopped the second the witch pointed at them and chanted mumbled words under her breath. The reaction had been instantaneous—Dean had gone down and the witch had used Sam's diverted attention to get away.

"We'll get her later, right?" Sam said to his unconscious brother as he continued the seemingly unending trek to the Impala. How far had they parked the car anyways? The parking lot hadn't been that far from the witch's beach house, had it? "Hang in there, Dean."

So far, his brother hadn't stirred nor made any noise, which worried Sam to no end. Dean was many things; silent was not one of them. In their line work, silence meant you were dead or were slowly slipping away and the youngest Winchester would be damned if either of those two things occurred to his big brother. He would help Dean just like Dean had done so many times for him.

Time for the little brother to step up to the plate.

The sun rays seemed to pierce Sam's skin, making him dizzy as the heat and the exertion from carrying his not-so-light brother caught up to him. He didn't have time to stop and hydrate though, not when he was unsure of what the witch could've done to Dean. He had to keep pushing, consequences for himself be damned. Blessedly, the Impala came into view and with it an added spring in Sam's step.

"We're here, Dean." Somehow, Sam got the passenger door open and gently placed his brother in the seat. After making sure he was secure, Sam rushed around to the other side and turned on the engine. He didn't have time to even block some of the sun's glare before he was pulling out of the parking spot.

He floored it to the motel.

* * *

"And you're sure—?"

"Dude," Dean interjected from his spot on the motel bed, exasperated. "For the last time, I'm fine." Sam's eyes narrowed as he watched his brother flip through the channels on their crappy motel TV. He had awoken about an hour after returning to the motel and for all intents and purposes was perfectly healthy. Sam couldn't find a trace of anything magical having sway over Dean and though he was relieved, he couldn't let down his guard.

They never got away that easily.

Never.

"You would tell me if—?"

"Sam," Dean huffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm fine. There's not a scratch on me. That bitch probably just needed a distraction to get out."

"Yeah, I guess . . ." The youngest Winchester's voice trailed off into uncertainty. As much as he wanted to believe that his older brother was right, he had been hunting long enough to know that nothing was ever that simple.

"Relax, okay?" Dean told him softly, green eyes locking on his gaze. "Everything's fine." Sam smiled gently. Dean could have some sort of hidden curse on him and he was trying to protect Sam from worry.

A big brother through and through.

"Okay, well, I guess tomorrow we can look for her again."

"Sounds good."

More channel flipping. All in all, it could've been a lot worse and Sam was cautiously optimistic that maybe they had gotten out of this one that easily. He rose from his place at the desk and headed outside to get some fresh air. Their motel was close enough to the sea that you could taste salt on the wind and it brought a sense of joy to the youngest Winchester. He had always enjoyed the sea. There was something very humbling about it.

_Burn._

He turned his head, wondering where the voice came from. Finding no one, he frowned and then took a deep breath of the salty air. He was on edge after their close call; it was no wonder he was hearing things. The sun warmed his skin and was very soothing to him now that he wasn't trying to lug his brother back to a car parked at least 30ft away. He'd missed California in the summer. When Jess had been alive, the two of them would often drop everything on Saturdays and drive to the beach. They used to stand on the sand and just stare at the blue abyss before them.

He missed her.

"Hello, hunter."

His eyes flipped open and he found he couldn't move nor call out. The witch stood before him, clad in a yellow bikini that showed off her bronzed skin. She smirked slightly, ruby lips tilting upwards. Sam narrowed his eyes, trying to glare at her, but that elicited nothing but a laugh from her. She stepped forwards, placing her palm on his chest. Meeting his gaze, she grinned devilishly.

"Burn." He felt an almost knife-like sensation enter him and his eyes widened. She laughed and then snapped her fingers. He fell to his knees and then she was gone. He caught his breath, but the pain soon subsided and within a few minutes, he felt fine.

"What the hell?"

Maybe she wasn't a very good witch? Still, he couldn't take chances and he rose from the ground slowly. Aside from feeling the effects of the sun beating down on him, he was fine.

They needed to get to the bottom of this.

Now.

* * *

"And then she just left?" Dean echoed, confusion and anger lacing his tone. He was pissed off that Sam had been put in danger and he hadn't even been aware of the situation. Sam was secretly relieved; he hadn't wanted the witch getting another chance at Dean.

"Yeah." Sam rubbed his head, blocking some of the sun's rays from his face. It was hot in this room. He needed to crank up the air or something. He hadn't remembered summers in California being this warm when they were so close to the coast. Had things changed in the few years he had been gone?

"We have to find her," The eldest Winchester continued, pacing the room, something he did when he was worried and didn't have a solution to a problem. "She couldn't have gotten too far and then—"

But, Sam couldn't hear him. The sunlight seemed to driving spikes into his skin and he felt nothing but pain course through his veins. He did his best to focus on Dean, but the world was spinning and he was on fire and why was it so hot in here—

Strong arms gripped him, but the youngest Winchester was already gone. Fire was burning away his consciousness and it was with slight relief that he found himself falling into the cool abyss.

* * *

When he woke up, Bobby was sitting across from him, a well-worn smile on his face. He dabbed a cool cloth on Sam's face and the youngest Winchester leaned into it, savoring the heavenly cold that the cloth contained. Belatedly, he noted all the blinds had been shut—in fact, anything that could produce a bit of sunlight had been covered up.

"D'n?" Sam slurred, noticing his older brother wasn't there.

"He's okay," The gruff family friend reassured him. "He's gonna make this better." Sam tried to process Bobby's words, but he couldn't really focus on them. All he felt was his blood boiling within his skin and he wanted nothing more but to drift back into the pleasant abyss.

"S'okay?" His eyes were already closing again, but he forced himself to stay awake for just a few seconds longer.

"It will be, Sam."

Then, he was gone again.

* * *

The next time he awoke, Dean was there. He was speaking to him, but Sam couldn't understand anything. It was as if some child had gotten ahold of the DVD remote and was fast forwarding and then rewinding the movie over and over again. Bobby was there too, lifting him while Dean kept talking.

"—be okay, Sammy, I promise, just hang on—" Dean's cool hand slipped into his and Sam weakly grasped it, but still couldn't understand what was happening. Still, his older brother was clearly worried and it was his job to help ease his worries.

They placed him into a bathtub of ice water, but it barely soothed the fire that was consuming him. Bobby grabbed a small cup and scooped some of the water and poured it over his head. Throughout it all, Dean kept talking and Sam forced his eyes to remain locked on his brother's.

"—stay with me, Sammy, please, I can't—"

With his remaining strength, Sam forced his hand to move to his brother shoulder and squeezed it gently.

"S'okay, D'n," He soothed, his voice barely above a whisper. "M' fine."

His eyes fell shut.

* * *

Two days later, he woke up in a hospital bed.

The first thing he noticed was that the fire had been extinguished and he breathed a sigh of relief at that. Turning his head, he noticed Bobby asleep in one of the chairs by his bed and he smiled softly.

"Sammy?" Red-rimmed eyes met his and Sam forced himself to open his mouth to speak.

"Hey." Dean let out a breath that it seemed like he had been holding for weeks. "What happened?"

"That witch cursed you," His older brother spat venomously. "She made it so sunlight caused your blood to boil. She thought she was pretty clever about it too." Given that the eldest Winchester was speaking about her in the past tense, Sam assumed she was dead. He was a bit relieved. Who knew what she could've done to other people if she had gotten away?

"You okay?" Because at the end of the day, that was most important to Sam.

"Me?" Dean echoed in disbelief. "Dude, I'm not the one who almost died from a temperature of 106."

"That bad?" Sam winced.

"I called Bobby as soon as you collapsed in the room," He gestured to the sleeping hunter and Sam felt a wave of gratitude consume him. He was glad that even after their dad's death that they weren't alone in the world. They still had people watching out for them. "I went witch hunting when he showed up. Couldn't find her and when I got back to the room, you were unresponsive and your temperature was climbing." He ran a hand through his hair, obviously relieving a painful memory. "After an ice bath didn't help, we lugged you here. Your fever finally broke yesterday when I killed the bitch."

The unspoken _it was too close_ hung in the air.

"M'okay now." He held his hand out and instantly, his older brother gripped it.

"You're such a girl, Samantha." Dean teased; Sam just grinned.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"What do you say after this we go to Alaska or something?"

And for the first time in what felt like years since their dad died, Dean laughed.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__So, there we go! This turned out longer than I had anticipated, but I hope you liked it. Thank you again for such a wonderful prompt! Please review if you have a second! Also, if you wish to submit, there are 13 slots still open. Submit soon! Thanks! _


	3. The Plan

_**Author's Note: **__I'm late, I know. I'm so sorry to have already fallen behind when I'm supposed to be updating everyday; however, I got a nasty cold and I have spent the last few days being unable to focus on anything really. My cold is still here, but is slightly better. I will be playing catch-up during the next few days, but it's the best thing I can do until I'm healthy. So, that's the bad news. Wanna hear good news? __After much thought and reflection, I have decided to accept prompts until May 11__th__. That's a week from now and that will give people time to decide whether they want to submit a prompt or not. I wasn't expecting so many prompts within the first two chapters and I want to be fair for those who find this story a bit later on. So, what does this mean? If you have submitted a prompt already, I will be doing it. If you have not submitted a prompt and would like to, please submit it here via a review by May 11__th__. Do not PM me. I don't have it activated so it won't do you any good. To submit a prompt, leave it in your review. Rules are listed on my profile as well as in chapter 1. __**May 11**__**th**__** will be the deadline for prompts and once that date has passed, I will not be accepting more prompts.**__ Sound good? _

_ So, long author's note aside, on to today's fabulous prompt. This comes from __**judyann**__ who asked for, "How about younger Winchesters maybe Dean trying to teach Sammy to swim and of course it doesn't go well and Sam gets hurt. Could be at a pool or a lake. I will leave it up to you." Thank you for the wonderful prompt! One story full of wee!chesters coming up! This is set when Dean is 9 and Sam is 5. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air."_

—_Ralph Waldo Emerson_

* * *

The plan was made the moment they set up shop in a house that happened to have a pool across the street from it. As he grabbed their bags from the trunk, John let his gaze drift to the pool where countless kids splashed about. It was early May, but they were in Texas and summer always came early there. He smiled, though grief bubbled up to the surface. Mary had always loved to swim. Before they had gotten married, they used to sneak to the community pool after it closed and they would fool around, tossing water at each other and laughing like they didn't have a care in the world.

Mary was dead now though.

Swimming was not something to be enjoyed. It was an essential survival skill, one that Sam needed to learn. Nodding to himself, he slammed the trunk and headed in the front door.

* * *

The plan was announced the next morning as he sat down next to his youngest, who was already reading books appropriate for second graders. A flush of pride swelled within him—there was no denying that his boy was smart and would probably be smarter than John ever would be.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah, Daddy?" He was furiously reading and didn't even bother looking up from his page. Plates could be heard in the kitchen, banging against the wooden counter.

"How would you like to learn how to swim?" Sam dropped the book and looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Really, Daddy?" John chuckled, ruffling Sam's hair as the four year old wrapped his tiny arms around him.

"Yes, son," He replied affectionately. "It's time you learned."

In the other room, a plate crashed and broke into a million pieces.

* * *

The plan faced its first major hurdle after Sam fell asleep during the afternoon. His nine year old confronted him; eyes flashing with fury and John could see the beginnings of a fierce fighter within his son. God help anyone that dared to mess with Dean when he was older and could destroy anyone who got in his way or threatened his family.

"Dean?" He kept his tone measured, calm because he wasn't going to argue with his eldest over this. He was in charge of Sam, even if Dean sometimes thought that he was incapable of being so.

"Sam isn't going to learn how to swim."

Well, damn.

John hadn't expected his oldest son to just come out and say that.

"Not your call to make, Dean." He was Sam's father and he was the one in charge. He was the one who was going to be calling the shots, thank you very much. If Dean had a problem . . . well, tough. This was best for Sam.

"He's too scrawny, Dad, and you know it!" Dean protested, voice rising and John immediately shushed him. Last thing they needed was Sam to awaken prematurely from his nap and be cranky for the rest of the day.

"Dean—"

"Dad, please," He gripped John's sleeve and tugged on it, eyes wide and entreating. "Just . . . wait a few more months."

"It's survival skill, son," John sighed. "One that Sam needs, you know that."

"But—"

"Tomorrow, Sam learns how to swim."

With that, John left the room before Dean could fill him with anymore uneasiness.

* * *

The plan was altered when it soon became clear that Sam was actually terrified to get in the water. John stood in the shallow end, arms open, smile on his face, urging his nervous son to come in and join him.

"No!" Sam shouted, almost shaking. "No, Daddy."

"Sammy, it's just a bit of water—"

"Daddy, no!" A teardrop rolled down Sam's cheek and John grimaced, a pang of sorrow hitting him. He didn't want to force his son to do anything he didn't want to do, but swimming could save his life tomorrow. Saving Sam's life was worth being rejected by him. So, the hunter mustered up his courage and in his strongest voice ordered his son to come into the water.

Sam began to sob.

"Jesus." John sighed, wishing not for the first time that Dean was here and not at school. Taking Sam out for the day had been essential since it ensured that they would have the pool all to themselves while the other kids were at school, but it also meant Dean wasn't here to back him up.

Then again, considering how upset Dean was with him right now, he probably wouldn't have helped at all.

"Sammy—"

"Wow, Sam, you're swimming without me?" A voice affectionately teased and John turned his head to see Dean standing at the gate, dressed in swim trunks.

"Dean?" Sam murmured, sobs slowing slightly as his big brother's mere presence began to soothe him.

"What happened to school?" Not that John cared about him missing today, but he was a bit curious. His eldest shrugged.

"Couldn't miss Sammy learning how to swim, now could I?" He pulled the youngest Winchester to him and fiercely hugged him. John grinned, happy that Sam had calmed down and also that Dean was here. "So, Sammy?" Misty hazel eyes met Dean's gaze. "Ready to learn how to swim?"

"I don't wanna." Sam mumbled and Dean sighed dramatically.

"Oh, well, then I guess Dad and I will have to play that new super secret game by ourselves, won't we, Dad?"

"I guess so, son." John nodded, hamming it up for Sam's sake.

"What game?" Sam chirped, clearly distressed at not being included.

"Can't tell you," Dean replied. "It's only for people who can swim."

Checkmate.

"I can swim!" Sam shouted and he moved to John's arms. "Daddy, catch me."

"You got it, son." With that, Sam jumped without any further hesitation into John's strong arms.

"Can we play?" Sam asked Dean eagerly as his older brother got into the pool.

"Yeah, sure," Dean answered with an easy smile on his lips. "Let's start by seeing who can float the longest, okay?"

And with that, Dean began to teach Sam how to swim while John was the patient observer.

* * *

In all aspects, the plan was completed without a hitch.

Sure, Sam hadn't fully learned how to swim, but he was no longer afraid of the water and he wouldn't automatically flounder when John let go of him. They had even moved to the deep end of the pool instead of the shallow end. More work was needed of course, but overall, John was confident that Sam would master swimming quickly in no time.

It was as they were getting out of the pool that it happened. Dean got out first—at John's insistence—and went to find towels. John glanced away for just a few seconds as Sam began to climb up the pool ladder and checked the time.

That's when it happened.

One minute Sam was on the ladder, the next he had vanished along with half the ladder.

"Sam!" John barked, diving down as the metal pole of the ladder that had somehow maneuvered itself over Sam's chest pulled down his youngest. Sam was sinking fast, but John was quick swimmer and in a minute's time, he the pole moved and Sam bundled safely in his arms as he kicked towards the surface. "Sammy!" The youngest Winchester was still in his arms and cursing, John moved towards the stairs on the other side of the pool.

"Dad!" Dean stood there, utterly petrified, but John didn't have time to reassure him right now. He had to make sure Sam was breathing and if he wasn't—

He didn't want to think about that.

Placing Sam on one of the towels, he pressed his ear to Sam's chest, praying to hear that reassuring _thump thump_. It was there, shaky, but still there, thank God for small miracles. He ran a hand through Sam's hair and noted that his youngest was still breathing as well.

"Sam? Sammy?" His voice almost broke, because Sam was so still he almost looked like he was—

No. He was alive, Sam was alive!

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, kneeling by his sibling's side. Sam stirred at that, and John felt like he could finally breathe again. Murky hazel eyes met his and he smiled, relieved.

"Hey there, kiddo," He couldn't stop smiling; he was just so damn grateful that Sam was okay. "How you feeling?"

"Fine," Sam whispered, coughing slightly. "The ladder broke."

"Piece of junk." Dean spat venomously and John nodded his head in agreement. Whoever was in charge of maintaining this pool was going to pay for not fixing that stupid thing.

"You hurt anywhere?" John continued, planning how his revenge would occur.

"No."

"Then, let's get you up and dried off, okay?" Dean helped push Sam up, while John securely wrapped a towel around him. He grinned, relieved to see his youngest okay after such a close call. Pulling Sam into his arms, they began to walk back to the house, Dean keeping in contact with his brother with a secure hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Daddy?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Can we go swimming tomorrow?"

And in unison, he and Dean both shouted,

"No!"

And the plan was discarded in favor of a new one that involved staying away from the pool and eating ice cream at an actual ice cream shop. Dean would agree to that one for sure.

John smiled.

Yeah, that was a good plan.

* * *

_**Author's note: **__This became more John/Sam centric than I had intended, but I hope you still enjoyed it. Now, I'm going to go rest. This cold has really knocked me out! More updates tomorrow when I will hopefully catch up or at least post more than one chapter. If you want to request, leave a review with your request by May 11__th__! Please review if you have a second. Thanks! _


	4. A Reason to Hope

_**Author's Note: **__Ugh, being sick is awful. I've forgotten how awful it is, especially when it's spring and it's hot outside. Anyways, enough complaining about that. Hi everyone! I hope your day is going well or at least better than mine. _

_ Today's lovely prompt comes from __**gopottergo11**__, who asked for, "__Sam and Dean are on some sort of hunt. Sam is left out side to stand guard . . . in the extremely high temps. Lots Guilty Dean, shall we?" We shall indeed! Thank you for such a fabulous prompt! This is set in season 5. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_Well, I'm hot blooded, check it and see _

_I got a fever of a hundred and three." _

—_Foreigner, "Hot Blooded"_

* * *

The hunt was a simple one, which was a relief given how screwed up their lives had become. The Apocalypse—the freaking end of the world—was looming on the horizon and it was up to them to stop it. Add that with the fact that Heaven was after Dean to force him to say yes to Michael and demons were looking to take Sam back to their daddy dearest and you could begin to understand how much pressure the boys were under. Bobby was in a wheelchair, Jo and Ellen were dead and the Colt didn't work on the Devil.

Life pretty much sucked.

Which was why they had taken this hunt—an easy salt and burn that pretty much solved itself. They had been called in by the owners of a ranch down in Texas and they had stayed out of the boys' way while they went about their work. After determining that great grandpa Leo was indeed not resting peacefully, the boys had inquired about his final resting place.

"Down the road about a half mile," Farmer Green replied calmly, his wife by his side. "It's public property, but I doubt there'll be anyone there." The boys nodded their thanks and set off.

Silence reigned in the car ride. Their bond had been strained and though they were in the process of repairing their relationship, they weren't quite there yet. There was no longer any issue of lasting resentment or lack of trust, but it was hard to forget the events that led up to his crazy mess.

It was even harder to completely forgive.

"There." Sam pointed and Dean pulled the car over onto the gravel-paved shoulder. They got out of the car, grabbed their gear and made their way to the deserted cemetery. It was late afternoon and it was as hot as Hell, nearly 105 just in the shade. They had already peeled down to their basics—jeans and a t-shirt—but Dean still found himself sweating profusely as the sun beat down on him. Dimly, he realized that they had finished their last water bottle back at the farm and Dean cursed silently.

Well, they would just have to make this quick then.

"Keep a look out," Dean ordered and Sam stiffened slightly beside him. The eldest Winchester hadn't meant to be that harsh, but it was hot and as soon as they finished this job they could go back to the motel with the wonders of air conditioning. Then, he would apologize. "We're burning this guy now."

"You think that's a good idea?" Sam questioned, visibly concerned that they were doing this in the daylight hours.

"It's hot as hell," Dean snapped. "And this is easy, remember? Let's just get this done—"

"But if people—" The eldest Winchester held his hand up effectively silencing his brother.

"That's why you're on watch," Dean smirked slightly. "This dude is right in the mausoleum, Sam. It will be over quick, okay?" Before Sam could protest further, Dean took the lighter fluid and salt and headed into the stone mausoleum.

* * *

Leo went quietly and before Dean knew it, he was nothing more but ashes. Smiling softly, Dean collected the lighter fluid and the salt and exited the building. He was in a good mood, feeling that high that came whenever they completed a hunt. Maybe he would convince Sam to come out with him tonight to get a beer. Lord knew they needed some excuse to have fun with all the crap they had been going through. Maybe Sam—

Was lying on the grass, still and unmoving. Immediately, Dean dropped the objects in his hands and rushed to his brother's side, not caring how hot it was and how running was doing nothing but aggravating him.

"Sam!" He shouted because the only image that filled his mind was Cold Oak and no, this wasn't the same thing, Sam was fine—would be fine just as soon as Dean figured out what had happened. "Sammy!" He scooped his brother up and flipped him onto his back. Taking in his flushed skin, Dean cursed when he felt the heat radiating off his brother's form. "C'mon, Sammy, you're scaring me, dude." His pulse was erratic and dimly the eldest Winchester realized his brother wasn't sweating.

Fuck.

Dean had run out of his own water yeah, but Sam had given him his share as well. The eldest Winchester hadn't realized how long his youngest brother had gone without water and if he had . . .

God, he had made him stand outside too. This was his fault and if Sam fucking died from it—

"No," He growled, fury giving him strength. Sam was going to be fine, that much was sure. There would be no checking out now, no way. "Sammy, I'm going to fix this." He pulled Sam's body up, groaning under the strain, but he gritted his teeth and began to the trek to the car. "You need to lay off the salads, dude," Sam didn't so much as stir and Dean tried to pretend that it didn't scare him. Everything would be fine. "Hold on, Sam, I've got you." Sam's skin was too hot and he was too still and everything was so fucked up.

But this . . . Dean could fix this.

Dean would fix this.

* * *

The first thing he did was blast the air conditioner and then moved Sam towards the bed. He needed to see how bad his temperature was and if it warranted a hospital run. He didn't want to go to the ER—he always felt vulnerable there, ever since they lost their dad—but if Sam's wellbeing depended on it, he would suck it up and go. The thermometer they kept was pretty much from the Stone Age; it was that ancient compared to the digital ones of today. Still, it was reliable and it had survived nearly every thing that their family had been through. It held countless memories of their father making them soup, of cheesy movies on TV, and on days when time seemed to stop. Dean trusted this thermometer and he quickly stuck it in Sam's mouth, the youngest Winchester not even flinching. He waited the agonizing two minutes it took to get a reading before swiftly taking it out.

104—bad, but not hospital worthy.

"Hang on, Sammy." Dashing to the bathroom, he grabbed every towel he could find and poured the coldest water the tap could give on them. Once they were sufficiently wet, he returned to Sam's side and began to lay the towels on every inch of his exposed skin, save for his face. With a washcloth, he dabbed Sam's forehead and the rest of his face. It was after a few minutes of this that the youngest Winchester began to stir.

"D'n?" He slurred, hazel murky eyes meeting his and Dean beamed.

"Hey, Sammy, can you sit up and drink something for me?" Sam nodded and pushed himself up on his own, something that made the worry coiled in the pit of Dean's stomach loosen slightly. Dean handed him an ice-cold water bottle and Sam began to drink steadily from it. The eldest Winchester relaxed at this.

"What happened?" Sam questioned, voice strong and his eyes clear.

"You tell me," Dean answered. "I came out and found you had face planted on the ground." Sam tilted his head to the side, confused slightly.

"I got dizzy," The youngest Winchester replied. "I was going to call you, but . . ." His voice trailed off and Dean got the picture.

"You were dehydrated," The eldest Winchester told his sibling sternly. "You should've said something—"

"Dean—" Sam began to protest.

"I wouldn't have made you stand outside if I had known, Sammy," The older brother told him passionately. "And if I had realized that I took your water earlier—"

"I gave it you, Dean," The youngest Winchester replied gently. "It's not your fault. I should've paid more attention—"

"Don't blame yourself!" Dean snapped. "If I had known—"

"It's not your fault either!"

"It is!"

"Really? Cause last time I checked, I was supposed to know better than to make a rookie mistake like this!"

"But I'm the older brother, Sam, I should've known!"

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. Instead, he grinned and began to laugh. Confused, Dean came closer to him and placed his hand on his forehead, checking for a fever spike.

"I'm fine," Sam waved him off. "It's just . . . we're arguing over whose fault this is. It's kind of funny, don't you think?"

Dean had to admit it was a bit ridiculous. He soon found his younger sibling's laugh infectious and for the first time in what felt like years, they were both laughing like they didn't have a care in the world.

* * *

When Castiel showed up the next day to check in with them, he found the brothers playing poker instead of frantically researching. He found them smiling and joking with each other like they used to do before the Apocalypse.

"Hey, Cas!" Dean greeted with a grin. "Want me to deal you in?"

"I do not know how to play." The angel confessed sheepishly.

"Sit down," Sam told him. "And we'll teach you."

"Very well then."

That night, instead of following up on the lead that Castiel had come across, they played poker. The Messenger of the Lord wasn't sure what had brought about the sudden change with the two brothers, but he was grateful to see that some of the burden on their shoulders had been lifted. They were enjoying life once more and they had seemed to find their reason to fight again in each other.

That night as he proceeded to lose every single round that he played in, Castiel realized that there was still a reason for hope.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I hope you enjoyed this! I'm shooting to have another chapter up later today, but we'll see how I feel after I rest from this cold. Stupid illness! Anyways, please review and request if you have a second! Thanks! _


	5. Spontaneity

_**Author's Note: **__Still sick and still behind on updates. Thanks for all the well wishes about my health. You guys are so sweet! I'm feeling a bit better, but this cold is quite stubborn. Still, I will continue my daily updates until my cold is gone and then I will catch up. Just as a reminder, I have done away with the concept of just accepting 31 prompts and am accepting prompts until May 11__th__. _

_ Today's cool prompt comes from __**Hacked It Out and Fell**__ who requested this, "Sam is never, ever going to listen to Dean again when the suggestion involves stopping in the middle of no where, a river and the words "Perfect way to cool off Sammy." Thank you for this fun prompt! I really enjoyed writing it. Let's set this in season 6, okay, after Sam gets his soul back._

* * *

"_We'd go down to the river_

_And into the river we'd dive." _

—_Bruce Springsteen, "The River"_

* * *

Dean's always been spontaneous, ever since he was little.

He's never been the one to come up with plans—outside of hunts; he always plans for hunts—and half of the time, he'd decided what to do with a free day the morning that the day came. It's part of his charm, Sam supposes, and it's what makes Dean, well Dean. While the youngest Winchester meticulously plans—something that Jess used to tease him about at school—Dean goes in on the fly. It's this spontaneity that has caused Sam to end up in some crazy hijinks, including a fourth of July illegal fireworks celebration. The cops had almost busted them for that one and Sam had honestly thought their father was going to find out somehow.

Still, near run-ins with the law aside, Sam admires this aspect of his brother and sometimes, he's envious of it. He wishes that he too could just drop everything and do something crazy. Then again, it's not in his nature.

He likes plans.

It was fate that likes to screw with them.

So, when Dean pulled the Impala onto an abandoned dirt road in the middle of nowheresville, Mississippi and pointed to the river running through the field, Sam knew immediately where this was heading. It was 103 and they had been driving for over four hours. The car was stuffy, even with the windows down and the youngest Winchester was getting restless.

"Perfect way to cool off Sammy." Dean told him with a smirk and Sam nodded his head in agreement. They were supposed to meet up with Bobby in a few hours and they would be late if they stopped now, but screw it.

It was hot and a dip in the river seemed perfectly fine with him. So, they stumbled out of the car, took off their shirts and headed towards the slow moving water. Running a hand through it, Sam smiled, pleased with how cool it was. Dean bounded in, splashing his brother playfully.

"Hey!" Sam laughed, his tone lacking the reproach he had been attempting to summon.

"Get in already, princess!" Dean shouted, tossing water at him once more. Sam chuckled and followed after his brother. They proceeded to attack each other with the water and Sam let himself enjoy himself. The two of them had been stressing out over so much recently—what with Castiel acting weird and the fact that he pretty much had a ticking time bomb in his head—and this was a much needed break.

Then again, he should've known there was no such thing as a break for them.

"You!" A voice hissed and the two brothers froze as from the river rose a beautiful young woman. He red hair gleamed in the sunlight, even more so since it was wet. She was dressed in a sea-blue sleeveless dress, which showcased her bronzed skin. Her green eyes furiously met Sam's. "You dare show your face in my presence after the last time, mortal?" She was radiating anger and Sam involuntarily stepped back as Dean pushed himself to cover his brother.

"Look lady, I—" Dean began, but she held her hand up for silence.

"Such insolence," She seethed. "This is my domain, hunter, and I warned your companion not to return after the last time—"

"What last time?" Sam asked, but Dean shot him a warning look.

"You're a pontamide, aren't you?" His older brother questioned, stepping even closer to the clearly inhuman woman. "A river spirit?" Sam tilted his head to the side in confusion. Pontamides were Greek in origin and the youngest Winchester had never heard of anyone ever encountering one outside of Greece. Even more troublesome, she seemed to know him. Had his soulless self done something here?

"That is correct, mortal," She spat, her eyes still locked on Sam's. "And as you have broken your word, your life is forfeit."

"Wait, what—?"

But that was all the warning they got before the woman raised her arms up and a wave of water seemingly rose up from nowhere and rushed at them. A current pulled the youngest Winchester down and he fought against it, struggling vainly.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted as he tried to swim towards his sibling, but he was stopped by another wave of water. With a dim realization, the youngest Winchester realized that this water spirit wasn't going to hurt Dean, just him.

And as arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him down, he let himself be comforted by that fact.

* * *

_"You dare to kill something so evil near this sacred space?" The pontamide stood before his soulless self, frown firmly in place and her arms crossed around her chest. "You show no respect for the forces that control your life, mortal." His soulless self scoffed as he pushed the demon's body into the river, letting the current take it away. He hadn't saved the person possessed, but he had gotten the information he needed, which was all that mattered._

_ "I could kill you as well, if it will make you feel better." He shrugged nonchalantly as he held up his gun. She hissed at him, water rising by her side. _

_ "It is against my nature to take a life so I shall spare you," She growled, water still rising. "Yet heed my warning, should you return here again, I will kill you." _

_ And with a splash of water, she was gone._

_ His soulless self had just laughed._

* * *

He floated for a long time, content in the darkness, just drifting.

_Sammy, c'mon, please—_

Dean's voice was far-off and the youngest Winchester could barely make out his words. It was better to remain in the dark. The light would only bring pain and suffering, of that he was certain. It was better to stay—

—_Breathe, Sammy, please! C'mon, dammit, breathe! You don't get to do this now—_

Dean was worried.

He was scared.

He rarely showed his vulnerabilities, even to Sam so whatever was occurring was serious. Regardless of the pain that was sure to come, he needed to return, he needed to come up for—

Air.

His eyes flew open and he was gagging as a hand rubbed his back and eased him to his side to help the passage of water. Dean was there, his voice murmuring reassurances as Sam continued to expel the water that had been forced down his throat.

"It's okay, I've got you, you're okay," His older brother whispered. "It's fine, Sammy." When he felt like he could talk without dissolving into a coughing fit, he met his brother's concerned gaze.

"Pontamide?"

"She, uh, let you go," Dean replied sheepishly. "Once I told her that you weren't, well, you."

"She listened?" Sam mumbled, incredulously.

"Well, that was after she drowned you so . . ." His voice trailed off and a dark look flashed across his brother's face. It had been close, that much was certain. The youngest Winchester realized dimly that they were on the bank of the water and his chest hurt with a phantom pain.

CPR.

He had been dead then or close to it.

"Dean?" His brother was hovering above him and Sam shot him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine." The eldest Winchester nodded his head and then ran a hand over his face.

"Fuck," He swore softly. "That was too close."

"I remember what happened."

"You do?" Dean's voice was caught between curiosity and sheer dread.

"I dumped a demon body here."

"It wasn't you, Sam—" Sam sighed wearily, sick of this argument.

"It was though—"

"No, Sam," Dean interjected sharply. "It wasn't. Don't think anymore about it, okay?"

_Don't scratch the wall._

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" They were both laying on the bank, staring up at the cloudless sky.

"Next time we go swimming, I wanna go to a pool."

A beat.

"You got it." Dean replied with a huff of laughter.

* * *

And when they met up with Bobby an hour late, the older hunter took one look at their disheveled appearance them and said,

"I don't even want to know."

The boys just smiled sheepishly.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__There you go! I really enjoyed this chapter and I hope you did too. Please review and request if you have a second. Thanks! _


	6. Good Intentions

_**Author's Note: **__Almost healthy, like 80% there. This cold has been very stubborn. Anyways, hopefully, in the next couple of days, I will be healthy again and I can catch up on my posting. Until then, one chapter a day will have to suffice._

_ Today's fun prompt comes from, __**AshleyMarie84**__, who requested; "it's hot as hell outside so Dean decides to get slushies to help him and Sam cool off. Dean gets Sam a strawberry slushie but unbeknownst to the both of them Sam had developed a severe allergy to strawberries. He goes into Anaphylactic shock and Dean feels massively guilty." Thanks for this really interesting prompt! Fun fact, this kind of scenario has happened to some relatives of mine. Not as bad as anaphylactic shock, thank goodness, but the unknown food allergy part. Based on those experiences, that is where I'm getting my medical knowledge. Please note that I am not a doctor nor a medical professional of any sort, so forgive me if my information is incorrect! We'll set this in early season 5. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_Hell is paved with good intentions."_

—_Samuel Johnson_

* * *

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

After driving for a few hours in the scorching heat that only the Florida sun could provide with no air conditioning—the one thing his baby lacked, otherwise she was perfect—Dean had gotten hungry. Sam hadn't eaten since last night, begging off breakfast to focus on brooding about the impending apocalypse no doubt. Yeah, part of the blame was on his shoulders and rightly so, but what his younger brother failed to realize was that he wasn't the only one who had made mistakes. Dean had listened to angels over his own brother. He had taken jobs without discussing it with him and he had kept his own share of secrets. So, in the end, they were both to blame but if the eldest Winchester had learned anything from his disastrous trip to the future, it was that he and Sam were stronger together.

Together, they could do anything.

Together, they would save the world.

At least, that's what he told himself when the weight of the world settled on his shoulders and it felt like there was no respite and no hope. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that there were times when he didn't want to get up out of bed in the morning. He just wanted to say, "Screw it!" and let someone else worry for a change.

But, there was no one else. They were the world's only hope so they had better figure something out. Still . . . the doubts lingered within the darkest recesses of his mind, taunting him.

It was almost a relief when he passed the gas station. He pulled in without a second thought, grateful that he would be able to do something other than be lost in thought. They were still in the middle of nowhere, but they needed something to eat. It was an easy distraction, but one that he relished.

"Sam?" Guilty hazel eyes met his and Dean grimaced. When would his brother stop looking like a kicked puppy? He hated seeing his sibling like this, but his forgiving words were having little effect on Sam. He would just have to hope that his actions would speak louder. "Want a slushie?" It was no secret that Sam loved slushies. It was the one junk food that he really embraced, even as he got older. He would reject hamburgers for salads, but give him a slushie and he would forget all about his rabbit food.

"Yeah, thanks." Sam murmured, much too quietly.

With that, Dean exited the car and headed inside, grabbing the largest cup he could find. He grinned as he noticed that they had strawberry, Sam's favorite. He filled it up and then put a neon pink straw in it, just because he could. Proud of this, he paid for the drink and the gas and then headed outside.

"Here you go." He handed him the slushie and Sam beamed his thanks.

"This is really good." Sam commented as he began to drink. Dean chuckled dryly as he eased back onto the main road and drove south. Some things never changed—Sam was still in love with strawberries now as he was then.

"Yeah, well." He hesitated, unsure of how to voice what he was feeling. He wasn't one for that chick-flick moment crap that his younger brother relished. No, Dean followed the Winchester way—shove the feelings down until they only came out in fits of anger and drunkenness. He wasn't good at "talking" like Oprah urged, not that he watched her, that is. He had just heard from people that she said that.

Yeah. That was it.

Suck it up, Winchester!

"Sam, look, I . . ." He took a steadying breath in. He was scared of this—of talking to his little brother about how he was worried about said brother? Yet, he could rush into a Wendigo's lair, no problem? Where was the logic in that?

Thankfully, Sam cut him off.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" He sighed, clearly relieved.

"I think . . ." Sam's brow furrowed as he stared at the slushie and then at Dean and then back again. "I think something's wrong."

The blood chilled in the older brother's veins.

"Wrong?" He echoed, visually triaging Sam, even though he was on the road and his eyes should be focused there. Screw that though! Sam was his family and he would be damned if something happened—

"My throat feels funny." He coughed a few times, a hand rubbing his neck.

Shit.

"Can you breathe?" He was already altering his course, doing a 180 back to the hospital sign that he had automatically found the moment they had rolled into town. He was flooring it, the engine straining, but he didn't have time to worry about it now.

"I don't understand," Sam coughed fitfully, his breaths becoming shallower, his chest heaving as his lungs tried to get the oxygen they needed. "M'not allergic." He was wheezing now and they were still 10 minutes away from the hospital. He could pull over and call an ambulance, but that would probably take longer.

And Sam was running out of time as it was.

"Just breathe, okay?"

Yeah, that was great. Like Sam had any control over that whatsoever.

"D'n?" Sam's eyes were wild and Dean was transported back to a different time when the scariest thing he had to deal with was helping Sam after he fell down. The expression was the same then as it was now and it brought a painful wave of nostalgia over him. Back then, all it took to soothe Sam was a kiss and a Band-Aid. Now, he was suffocating and there wasn't a damn thing the eldest Winchester could do except break every speed limit law known to man and pray that he wouldn't be too late.

"Just hold on, Sammy," He barked gruffly as Sam hand shakily placed itself on Dean's knee. He was trying to reassure his older brother and wasn't that great, because Dean totally needed to be comforted here while Sam died from a lack of oxygen. "Hold on."

"S'okay."

"It will be."

Sam nodded and Dean could only watch as he passed out as his throat closed up. They were only a minute away from the hospital now. The eldest Winchester just had to hope that Sam could hang on for that one minute.

And somehow, he coaxed the engine to go faster.

* * *

"Dean?"

He looked up from the white floor of the waiting room that he had been staring at for hours. After he had dragged Sam in, screaming for help, practically crying as they pried his limp brother away to begin attempts to resuscitate him. That had been over a half hour ago and since then, there had been no word from the doctors. He had to assume that no news was good news because the alternative would kill him.

When Sam had died in Cold Oak, Dean had contemplated living a life without his younger sibling. He thought about pushing past the pain and burying Sam. But, in the end, the grief had been too much and the loss all-encompassing. He could live without his father, but Sam was his reason to breathe, to get up and face the day. A psychologist would have field day with their relationship, he was sure, but it was the truth.

They went out together or not at all.

"Dean?"

"Cas." His voice was weary and he felt so damn tired. The not knowing was killing him slowly, though part of him was afraid to know incase Sam had somehow slipped away. The angel stared down at him, concern present in his usually detached gaze.

"Bobby informed me you were here." The Messenger of the Lord took a seat next to him, gaze still locked on Dean's face.

"Right." He had called Bobby as soon as Sam had disappeared down that endless hallway. The older hunter had wanted to come out himself, but that was impossible now, so he had settled on demanding to be updated as soon as Dean heard anything. Apparently, he had gotten impatient and called on Castiel to figure out what was going on.

"Sam is ill?" Dean wearily nodded. His eyes kept burning, tears pricking at them, but he refused to cry. Crying meant accepting that this shit was happening to Sam and he sure as Hell wouldn't accept that. "How badly?"

"Family of Sam Forrester?" A blonde doctor—that in any other circumstance Dean would've considered hot—scanned the room, a clipboard in her hand. The eldest Winchester stood quickly and rushed to her, Castiel trailing behind him.

"How is he?" Because that was the only thing that mattered, the world ending or not.

"Sam is stable," She replied, a smile on her lips. "He's going to be okay." Dean breathed fully for the first time in what felt like years. The relief hit him hard and he swayed, Castiel bracing him slightly. "Are you—?"

"I'm fine," He answered quickly. "What happened to my brother?"

"He had an allergic reaction and went into anaphylactic shock."

"What?" He murmured because he had not been expecting that. "He's not allergic to anything though—"

"As I've gathered," She interjected calmly. "You mentioned that he had a strawberry slushie before he started experiencing discomfort?" He nodded. "That's probably what did it."

The slushie.

The slushie that Dean had given to him.

"But . . ." Guilt washed over him, each wave hitting him harder than the last, making it nearly impossible to speak. "Sam's never had a problem with strawberries." She smiled sympathetically.

"Does he eat a lot of fruit?" Dean nodded. "And does he have spring time allergies?"

"Yeah, but never that bad—"

"Mr. Forrester, I believe Sam has developed oral allergy syndrome."

"What is that?" Castiel spoke up, voice concerned.

"It is a condition which develops over time," She glanced at both of them before continuing. "Basically, people who suffer with OAS are allergic to pollen that is found on and in certain fruits. The body recognizes the pollen, attacks it and that results in the reaction." She tucked a strand of her platinum blonde hair behind her ear and Dean tried to process the information.

"But it was a slushie," He protested. "That's not fresh fruit. It shouldn't be a problem—"

"Indeed," She agreed. "But some people are more sensitive than others and thus some cases of OAS are more severe than others. In Sam's case, his body sensed the pollen in the strawberries and moved to destroy it. It's rare, but it happens."

So, he had almost killed Sam today.

Way to go, Dean.

"Is it treatable?" Thank God for Castiel because Dean certainly wasn't paying much attention. It was all too much at once and coupled with the stress over the apocalypse, he wasn't sure if he would make it without some sort of girly meltdown.

"Yes, of course," She told him quickly, shooting Dean a concerned glance. "There are many options for treatment and even putting Sam on some basic anti-histamines will help him immensely. We can discuss this all later, of course." She placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and he met her gaze. "Would you like to see Sam?"

Somehow, he found the strength to nod.

* * *

"You know it's not your fault, right?" Sam told him as Dean scanned him in the hospital bed. He's hooked up to oxygen as well as 10 different other monitors. His heart rate beeped out steadily on one of the monitors. His little brother appeared to be so pale and tired and God, how had Dean never noticed how run down he was? Instead of almost killing his brother to force him to get some rest, he should've insisted on a mini-vacation. Castiel had left to give a full report to Bobby, leaving them the only two in the room. "Dean?"

He kept flashing back to Sam saying his name in the car, eyes wide with fear and chest heaving as he tried to breathe and who caused all of this? None other than yours truly. Looks like he was following his father's last order after all.

"Dean." Sam's tone was more insistent this time, stronger than it had been in the car.

"What?" He lifted his gaze up to meet those hazel eyes that three hours earlier had almost closed forever.

"It's not your fault." Dean huffed out a disbelieving laugh.

"Sure, Sam."

"I mean it," Sam insisted in that _I'm-the-little-brother-and-I-know-best_ tone that he had perfected over the years. "We couldn't have known."

"I should've known." The eldest Winchester told him solemnly.

"Right, cause you suddenly acquired the ability to predict whether I was going to get this weird allergy condition that we didn't even know about before today."

"Sam—" He was tired and broken and wanted nothing more than to sleep for 500 hours or to drown his sorrows with a bottle of whisky.

"Dean, please," He whispered. "Let it go, man."

"Just like that?" A nod from his younger brother. "Let go the fact that I almost killed you, Sam?"

"You didn't know!" Sam protested.

"But I—!"

"Fine," His little brother pouted. "If you're blaming yourself for this, then I should be able to blame myself for the apocalypse. I should've known what would've happened then."

Well, damn.

Sam had just called him out on his own hypocrisy. Judging from the smirk that slid onto his brother's face, he knew it too and was pleased by his move.

"Sam, this isn't the same."

"No, it's not," Sam agreed. "What I did was worse."

"Sammy—"

"Either you let me blame myself and I let you blame yourself," His little brother began. "Or we both agree that we should move on and live in the present." He tilted his head to the side. "What do you say?"

There was so much to be guilty about—on both their parts—but Sam was right. Living in the past wouldn't do anything except get them killed. They had to focus on fixing the present and preventing the disastrous future that he had seen. Only together—with both their minds focused on the present—could they save the world.

Only together could they survive this.

"Yeah," Dean told him slowly. "Yeah, okay."

* * *

When Castiel returned, he found Sam asleep on his bed and Dean passed out in the chair next to him, he head resting on Sam's leg, snoring softly. It was the kind of moment that Dean would give anything to avoid being caught in—a chick flick moment, if the angel recalled correctly—but for Castiel, it was a reassuring sight.

Dean had forgiven himself and found hope.

These were the two boys that he had fallen from grace for; these were the two boys he had sworn to protect. He smiled softly as he reached for a blanket and that had been placed near the chair. He picked it up and wrapped it around Dean's shoulders, careful not to wake the sleeping hunter. Turning to Sam, he fixed some of his sheets, tucking him in.

"Sleep well."

Then, in a flutter of wings, he was gone.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This spiraled out of control and became much longer than I had anticipated. Still, I loved how it came out and I hope you did too. Please review and request if you have a second! _


	7. Protected

_**Author's Note: **__Slowly, but surely getting better. I'm barely coughing anymore, which is good. Still, this cold is so very stubborn. Thank you again for the well wishes about my health. Your comments make me smile! Thank you!_

_ Today's prompt comes from __**Jaden Grace1**__ who asked for, "I was hoping that you could do some kind of teen!chester story? Maybe with Sam getting seriously hurt protecting either John or Dean?" Thanks for your super fun prompt! One story full of awesome teenage Sam coming up! Set when Sam is 13 and Dean is 17. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_Come away, O human child!_

_To the waters and the wild_

_With a faery, hand in hand,_

_For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand."_

—_W.B. Yeats, "The Stolen Child"_

* * *

It wasn't the first time they had been moved to a different town suddenly on their father's orders. Really, Sam had forgotten the last time John had stayed in a town longer than a few weeks before he forced them to leave on another hunt. Probably, they hadn't moved around so much before Sam had figured out what his father and his brother really did for a living, though he couldn't remember exactly. Saving people, hunting things, the family business—that's what Dean had summed it up as and it was that credo that Sam had been expected to follow. He had been training for a few years now, learning how to shoot a gun, how to fire a crossbow, how to do CPR—survival boot camp on steroids basically.

What Sam really wanted—what he really wished deep down in his heart—was to get out of this life. He had figured out pretty quickly that hunting was not the lifestyle for him. Dean embraced it and he excelled at it—he was a much better hunter than Sam would ever be and John was clearly proud of him.

Sam, on the other hand? Well, the youngest Winchester was better at research. He loved all books—fiction or not—as they gave him a chance to escape. In a book, he found himself somewhere other than a rundown home in some nameless town. Countless times, Dean had caught him sneaking in some chapters of _Sherlock Holmes_ instead of researching whatever monster of the week they were hunting. His older brother would smile and ruffle his hair affectionately and then remind him that they had a job to do—_Lives are counting on us, Sammy_—and he would close the book and go back to work.

Some days, when John's reprimands got to be too much, when he felt the futility of his life closing in around him, he thought about running away. He never had any specific destination in my mind, but he felt like just picking up and leaving. He never did though—he hadn't gained enough courage to do so and the thought of Dean's reaction if he left crushed any belief that running away was good—but he thought about it.

A lot.

Sometimes, it was all he ever thought about.

"I can grant your wish, mortal, if you so desire." The fairy before him grinned maliciously as she sat glanced down at him from her perch on the roof of their rented house. Her wings sparkled like stars in the pale moonlight and though it was almost dark, he could see her red eyes glowing perfectly. He knew a bit of fairies and had determined that this one had come from the Unseelie Court, where the more malicious fairies lived. She fluttered down to where the youngest Winchester stood, her tattered dress of black fabric almost disguising her in the darkness of the night.

"I want nothing from you." He had learned that from his books too—never trust a fairy for they were wily and loved nothing more than to trick foolish mortals.

"Is that so, son of John Winchester?" His eyes widened and she chuckled. "Oh, act not so surprised. All those in my realm know of you hunters," She spat the word, eyes flashing darkly. "And of you."

"Me?" Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. While he could understand how fairies could hear of hunters as hunters did occasionally kill fairies, he couldn't understand how fairies would know who he was. He was barely allowed to hunt as it was and this was the first fairy they had ever encountered!

"Yes, you," She purred, circling him. "The one chosen by the dark, the tainted one, the would-be King." She sighed dramatically, running a hand through her golden locks. "Frankly, it is quite annoying. You are under his protection."

"His?" Something was going on here—something more than just random disappearances in some small town. The youngest Winchester was beginning to think that this was orchestrated somehow. All the signs had been so clear, pointing his brother and his father to the other side of town while Sam guarded the house.

This was a set up.

"I wanted to meet you," She continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I wanted to see for myself whom my kind so often have discussed, whom Azazel had chosen to share his power." She reached a hand out and Sam instinctively stepped back. He had no idea what she was talking about, but none of it could be good and frankly, he was scared. He wanted Dean to give him strength and his father to give him direction. Suddenly, running away and being alone seemed like the worst option out there.

"Leave me alone." He tried to make his voice sound authoritative like his father's, but it came out as a mere whimper instead. He felt himself shaking and the fairy smirked.

"What does he see in you that he grants you so much power?" She mused. "My kind are far more deserving than you mortals and yet, you are the heir to his kingdom. Why?" She flew closer to him and the youngest Winchester felt his back hit a tree. He was out of room and cornered and the fairy knew that. "Do not fear, young Winchester."

Sam shut his eyes, willing his death to be quick.

"Hey!"

Oh, thank God.

"You've returned," The fairy let her gaze drift to where Dean stood, a shotgun in his hand, aimed directly at the fairy's heart. John stood a bit on the side, a gun in his hand as well. Reinforcements had arrived and Sam let himself breathe a sigh of relief. "Strange. I imagined that you would have been away longer."

"Look, you bitch," Dean began, voice dripping with venom and righteous fury. "I'm going to make this real simple. Get the hell away from him or I'll blast you full of iron." Indecision flitted across the fairy's eyes for the briefest of seconds. Fairies may have held immense power, yes, but iron was their one weakness. The fact that this fairy could stand to be around so much in the mortal world proved she was a strong one and not to be trifled with. Still, being around iron and being shot with it were two different things entirely.

"You dare to threaten me, the princess of the Unseelie Court?" Sam's eyes widened as that sunk in. Not only had he attracted the attention of a fairy, but the princess! What the hell was going on here?

"You screw with my brother again and I'll kill you," Dean replied calmly. "I don't care what you are." John nodded, his finger tensing on the trigger. The Princess smiled and calmly stepped towards them. With a wave of her hand, she sent the guns flying. Another wave of her hand and thorn covered vines emerged from the ground, entangling both Dean and John. Sam watched with horror struck eyes as the vines bit into his their skin, blood beginning to spurt from the wounds. She released them and threw both of her hands out and two branches of the tree Sam was pushed against broke apart from the tree. She twirled her hand and the leaves fell down and the branches became spears.

Immediately, Sam knew where this was going.

"No!" He shouted, summoning strength he hadn't even known he had. He sprinted to his brother's side and somehow pushed him to John, knocking them out of the line of fire. He cried out as the wood cut into his side.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted, trying to move towards his ailing sibling, but vines prevented him from moving. John too struggled, but to no avail. Panting, Sam sank to his knees, blood pouring from his side. Weakly, he pressed his hands into it to try and staunch the wound. Still, he knew enough about first aid to know that it would be impossible.

He was dying.

"Son, hold on!" John ordered and Sam smiled weakly. That was his father—still giving orders he knew Sam could never obey. His eyes misted over as he met Dean's gaze, his older brother pleading that he hold on.

"Sammy, no," It must've been his hazy vision because the youngest Winchester swore that Dean was crying. That was impossible though; his brother never cried. He was always the strong one, the one that protected Sam. "Sam, you stay awake, okay? You'll be alright, I promise."

At least he had managed to save Dean once too.

"You fool," The fairy chastised him. "You value their lives above yours?"

"M'family." He wheezed, blood dribbling from his lips now. The fairy princess shook her head in disbelief. Sam slid to the ground, his head coming to rest in the grass and his eyes locked on Dean's gaze. It would be nice, he supposed, to fade away like this.

At least Dean was there.

His eyes slipped close.

"Enough." A regal voice commanded and Sam felt his eyes snap back open. Rays of light filled the yard and dimly, Sam wondered what the neighbors thought was going on here.

"Your Majesty," The fairy princess spat as the Queen of the Seelie Court, ruler of the benevolent fairies appeared. She wore a ball gown of moonlight and her red hair was piled upon her head with a barrette of cobwebs adorned with dew. She was breathtakingly beautiful. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"How dare you," The Queen spat, stepping closer to Sam, her gaze mournful. Then, facing the dark fairy, fury encased her expression. "To have brazenly broken such rules!"

"I only want the power we deserve!"

"You are naïve and young!" The Queen hissed. "You dare to mess with forces you do not understand and now I must clean up your mess." The dark fairy chuckled dryly.

"Must you be so noble? Know you not what this power could do for our kind—?"

"Know you not what will happen if we take this power that was given to this mortal?" The Queen challenged, voice steady. "You risk ruin upon us all by angering forces we are in an uneasy truce with and because of that, Dulcina, Princess of the Unseelie Court, I herby sentence you to perish."

"That is beyond your power, O noble Queen," Dulcina mocked. "You rule those of the light—"

"In this matter, both courts are agreed," The Queen replied quietly. "Peace must be maintained between our kind and the demons." Sadly, she gazed at the princess. "Perish."

In a flash of light, there were screams of agony.

And then all was silent. Sam glanced away from the Queen to see his brother and father asleep. Eyes widening, he opened his mouth to speak, only for blood to come out instead. Then, the Queen was there, gently pulling his head onto her lap. Her eyes stared down at him, her expression pitiful.

"Fear not, Sam Winchester," Her voice was like the sound of tinkling bells and he found his pain had vanished. "You and your family are under my protection. The Unseelie will not dare touch you now that my will has been made known."

"I don't understand." He felt lethargic, his eyelids drooping without his consent. Fairy magic, he recognized. The Queen smiled softly at him, carding a hand through his hair.

"Nor shall you for many years," She informed him. "This will be naught but a dream to you, one easily forgotten in morning's light." He wanted to protest, but his voice was gone, his mind halfway to sleep. "Yet, fear not the darkness that lurks within you, Sam Winchester, for you have your family watching over you."

With that, he was lost to the land of sleep.

* * *

The next morning, he awoke in his bed with a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something.

"Training," John ordered gruffly after breakfast and Sam suppressed a groan. "Go spar, you two." In the backyard, Sam glanced at the tree and wondered why two of the branches were gone.

"What?" Dean asked casually, stretching his arm across his chest.

"I don't know," The youngest Winchester confessed. "I just . . . feel like I'm forgetting something important."

"Well, don't worry about it," His older brother informed him with a grin. "Whatever it is will come back."

"Yeah." Sam replied with a smile.

_You have your family watching over you._

The words came suddenly, without warning, but they brought a grin to his face.

And today, for the first time in a long time, Sam realized there was no place he would rather be than with his family.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This might be my favorite chapter so far though it too kind of grew out of control. Anyways, please review and request if you have a second. Thanks! _


	8. Superman

_**Author's Note: **__Guess who isn't sick anymore? Me! I'm so happy right now, you have no idea. So, this weekend, I will be catching up with all the posting I fell behind on. __**Friendly reminder that prompts will be accepted until midnight on May 11**__**th **__**(tomorrow!), so get yours in soon if you want it to be done! Guidelines and rules for prompts can be found on my profile and the 1**__**st**__** chapter of this story.**__ Please spread the word too to any hurt!Sam communities that you may know of. I'd love to get as many prompts as I can from as many people as I can. Thanks!_

_ Today's prompt comes from __**beyondtired**__ who requested, "I would love to see one where John encourages Sam to go to Stanford and he and Dean actually know Jess. Over summer break, Sam goes home with Jess, and her parents' home ends up with a poltergeist. Sam calls John and Dean and thus Jess finds out about the supernatural and the Winchester family business. Total bonus if Sam had his powers already." I do love bonus points. Thank you for such an interesting prompt! I've always wanted to write a story where Jess finds out about Sam's past and I've always loved Sam having powers. Needless to say, this story will be majorly AU. If this bothers you in anyway, please skip this chapter._

* * *

"_I never understood why Clark Kent was so hell bent on keeping Lois Lane in the dark."_

—_Audrey Niffenegger_

* * *

"Anyone ever tell you you're too good for my brother?" Dean flirted with me shamelessly as I handed him another beer from the fridge. Sam punched him playfully and the elder Winchester brother chuckled. "Dude, I'm just letting her know her options!"

"Thanks, but no thanks, Dean." I told him with a grin, grabbing Sam's hand within my own and squeezing it. Dean shrug, a smirk on his lips.

"Your loss." He took a swig of the beer and Sam pressed his lips to my hand and I realized once more how much I loved this man. We'd been dating a little over a year, but I knew he was the one. I had never felt so secure with someone before. I wasn't sure what had drawn me to Sam—he wasn't my type; I had always gone for the stupid jocks before him—but every night I thanked my lucky stars that I had met him.

"You staying the night, Dean?" I asked, an easy smile tugging at my lips. It was funny, the first time I had met Dean, he had hated me. He had grilled me on every aspect that was Sam, as if he was determined that I was a spy or something. Sam, for his part, had tried to intervene, but the big brother had been determined. Somehow, I had passed the test and now when he wasn't flirting with me, we got along fine. He and Sam were close—closer than any siblings I had ever seen before. They could have conversations without saying a word and while I was only beginning to learn the secret language of Sam, Dean was an expert. He knew when Sam was sick and when he was hurting way before I ever did. Stanford may have put some distance between them, but Dean's skills hadn't gotten rusty.

"Nah," He replied. "I promised Dad I would help him do some research on a hunt." Sam tensed slightly and if I hadn't known him as well as I did, I would've missed it.

"Yeah?" My boyfriend kept his tone deliberately light. "Anything interesting?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," The older brother answered. "Just deer and stuff like that."

"Yeah."

"Your dad hunts a lot." I commented. It was true. John Winchester, whom I had only met once at the hospital when Sam had gotten really sick with pneumonia a few months ago, always seemed to be hunting some type of game. Sam told me it was a hobby; Dean said it was the family business. Whatever it was, he was good at it. I didn't know much about patriarch of the Winchester family, but from what I had gotten from our only meeting, he was quite gruff and had a bit of a temper on him. He was protective of both his boys and it had been abundantly clear to me at the hospital that he would fight tooth and nail for them. He and I had exchanged only a handful of words, but like Dean, he seemed best at communicating through his actions. When he had entrusted Sam's recovery to me, he hadn't said anything. He had just placed his hand on my shoulder and nodded his head.

"He does." Sam told me, bitterness creeping into his tone.

"Sammy." Dean cautioned and my boyfriend nodded his head. Satisfied, Dean rose from the couch and pulled Sam up into a quick hug. He then embraced me, a fond smile on his lips.

"We'll see you in a few weeks." I said to him as I led him to the doorway.

"Right," Dean nodded. "Seeing the parents." Summer vacation was starting in a few days and while Sam was taking classes, he had a few weeks before they started. He had agreed to come home with me for a bit of time, something that I was looking forward to.

"See you later, Dean." Sam called to his brother, arms wrapping around my waist.

"Keep an eye on him, Jess," Dean replied, voice teasing yet with an undercurrent of seriousness. "And if you ever get sick of him, you give me a call." I chuckled dryly and Sam shook his head.

"Good bye, Dean." Sam said exaggeratedly and laughing, the elder Winchester brother climbed into the Impala and drove off.

* * *

Sam had secrets that he kept from me.

I mean, we all have secrets—things that we would never want anyone to know—but for some reason, the fact that Sam was still so determined to hide them from me hurt. For one thing, he had nightmares. They were . . . awful. He would call out in his sleep and toss and turn. One night, he woke up and sobbed for a few minutes while I held him, whispering reassurances for something I wasn't sure I could protect against. He never did tell me what he saw when he closed his eyes though and that is what kills me now. How can I help him if he won't tell me what's wrong? It hurts me to have seen what those nightmares had done to him.

When I called Dean and told him—I was desperate and Sam was slowly shutting down and slipping away from me—the elder Winchester brother had shown up and taken Sam for the weekend. When my boyfriend had been returned to me, he was visibly rested and relaxed. There were no more nightmares after that.

I never found out what caused them and I never asked.

Sometimes though, I lie awake in Sam's arms and I wonder.

Part of me will always wonder, I guess.

* * *

"We've had a few accidents," Mother told me as we stepped into the living room. I gasped as I saw the drapes had been torn to shreds and my mother's favorite pale blue vases now littered the carpet in a million tiny pieces. "Jessica, really, it's not that bad."

"What happened?" I exclaimed as Sam and I stepped further into the room.

"It's the strangest thing really," Mother did that nervous laughter thing that I hated and then wrung her hands. "We don't know."

"You don't, Mrs. Moore?" Sam asked quietly, a fierce determination in his eyes that I had never seen before.

"Your father and I have heard things in the night," Mother continued, eyes locked on the carpet. "But no one is here and we have the alarm on." She met my gaze and smiled a fake smile. "I suppose we have a little ghost!"

I laughed, but Sam nearly broke my hand at her words.

* * *

At midnight, I woke up in my bed—Mother had insisted on separate rooms for Sam and I—and felt a chill run down my spine. I couldn't place it, but something was wrong. I grabbed my robe and slipped on my slippers before heading down the hall.

I saw her at the bottom of the stairs—a woman with ebony hair that kissed her pale skin. Blood stained her cream nightgown crimson and before I could retreat, her bloodshot eyes met my gaze.

_I am so lonely._

Her voice seemed to surround me though her lips hadn't moved.

_Please, be with me._

All of a sudden, oxygen was in short supply and I found myself coughing and gasping for air. The woman—spirit?—did not seem fazed by this and calmly keep her eyes locked on mine. I tried to call out for help only for invisible hands to tighten around my neck.

"Hey!"

The woman's gaze darted to the kitchen where Sam stood, eyes furious. I gurgled his name, but he had eyes only for the woman. Then, he raised a hand at her and closed his eyes, as if in concentration. The woman's gaze widened and then she was flying back towards the wall, before she vanished. I coughed, sweet air flowing into my lungs. Sam was there, reassuring voice by my ear and his hand rubbing my back.

"I've got you," He whispered. "You're okay."

And though I had so many questions swirling in my head, I let him hold me, just content to be in his arms.

* * *

"Let me get this straight, you hunt ghosts." Sam sat down on my bed, his gaze locked on the wooden floor. He nodded solemnly and I tried to process what was being told. The "hunts" he and Dean had talked about were hunts for supernatural creatures? A demon had killed his mother and gave him powers?

What the hell was going on here?

My first instinct was to deny his claim, to label him as crazy and urge him to get help. Ghosts weren't real! This whole thing was just some weird dream and any second I would wake up in my bed and laugh it all off as some weird occurrence.

But . . .

The bruises on my neck were real. They were there, an angry shade of red that would make a spectacular bruise soon. That woman—ghost—had tried to kill me and only Sam had gotten her to go away. So, either Sam was crazy and this was all some elaborate trick of my subconscious, or there was a chance that this was all real.

"Look, you can believe me or not," My boyfriend began calmly. "But either way, you need to get out of this house tonight." Voice deadly, he added, "I'm not letting her get another shot at you."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" He glanced up at me, as if he had prepared himself to be broken up with right now.

And I knew I had my answer.

"I believe you."

* * *

John and Dean were there within an hour.

They gave my parents some shitty excuse about a gas leak and they had quickly fled their room for the local hotel, something that I was immensely glad for. In their sleepy state, they hadn't noticed my bruises and boy, wasn't that going to be fun covering up with makeup tomorrow?

"How you holding up?" John asked me gruffly as Sam and Dean heatedly debated something under their breath. It was something to do with me, judging by the furious glances both Winchester brothers were giving me.

"As well as can be expected." I mumbled and John nodded.

"Sam told me that you saw pretty much everything."

"He threw that ghost with a wave of his hand," I confirmed, though it became no less shocking each time I said it. "But he saved my life."

"Sammy always wanted out of this life," John told me softly. "When he got accepted to Stanford, I told him to go, to get out of the life because it never ends well." He smiled ruefully and I could tell there was a mountain of grief within John Winchester. "I just . . . I never thought that it would find him."

"For what it's worth," I began slowly, my eyes locked on Sam as his brother discussed something with him. "It doesn't change anything."

"It doesn't?" He echoed, full of disbelief.

"Sam is still Sam," I replied. "He just . . . can do stuff I can't. Like Superman, you know?"

There was a pause and I worried I had said the wrong thing.

Then, John simply laughed and I knew everything would be okay.

* * *

All things considered, it was over relatively quickly.

While I waited outside, they had somehow gotten rid of the spirit, though no one would give me exact details. When they emerged, Dean was carrying Sam and all my questions vanished.

"Sam!" I rushed to his side, worry and fear and _Oh God, not him_ coursing through my veins and consuming my thoughts. Sam's head rested on Dean's shoulder, blood slowly pouring from his nose.

"He's okay," Dean assured me, securely supporting his brother. "He just overdid it."

"With the powers?" I questioned and John nodded.

"They take a toll on him," The eldest Winchester informed me, eyes locked on Sam's sleeping form. "A few hours of rest and he'll be okay." I nodded my head and Dean shot me a tired smile.

"The house is fine now. We took care of it."

"Thank you." I told him earnestly.

"Saving people, hunting things," He shrugged casually. "It's what we do."

* * *

When Sam opened his eyes a few hours later, I practically beamed.

"Hey." I greeted, my voice breaking from tears of relief. "How do you feel?"

"Y'kay?" Sam slurred, voice heavy with exhaustion and I chuckled, wiping a rogue tear away. He gripped my hand within his own and I met his gaze. "Jess?"

"I'm fine, Sam, thanks to you," I shot him my best watery grin and he smiled back at me. "I'm just relieved, that's all."

"S'okay now." His eyes were already drooping shut and I pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Yeah, it is."

I knew what secrets Sam was keeping now and while I wished that I did not know about the world that went bump in the night, I was relieved to finally understand all the dimensions that made Sam, well Sam. Hunting had been a part of his life that had helped shape who he was today. I was glad that I finally grasped that, even though I wished that ghosts and all that stuff did not exist.

"I love you, Sam Winchester."

I settled myself into the chair beside his bed and let my eyes shut.

It was the best sleep I had had in weeks.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This turned out to be more Jess-centric than I had intended, but I liked the way it came out and I hope you did too. Please review and request if you have a second. __**Requests will close tomorrow at midnight! **__Thanks! _


	9. Surf's Up

_**Author's Note: **__I'm back! Sorry for the delay, my real life has gotten insanely busy. Updates may be every other day for a few weeks until things calm down, but we'll see. __**REQUESTS ARE CLOSED**__. To everyone who submitted a prompt, it will be fulfilled. To those of you who didn't, I may open up requests again in a few weeks and let this run into June or July, but I make no guarantees. Thank you for all the kind words about the last chapter! There will be a follow up to it (a prequel of sorts) as a reviewer requested it. _

_ Today's cool prompt comes from __**Er-BearG32**__, who actually gave me a choice to pick between lots of requests. I ended up doing this one: "Pre-series, Sam is learning how to surf & takes a bad fall while learning, getting hit in the head, going unconscious & almost drowning. Who he's with you can decide." Thank you for your prompt! I seem to be on a Sam/Jess kick so we'll set this during Sam's second year at Stanford._

* * *

"_I took off on a wave, went down the side, popped out the other end, and went, shit, I'm still alive!"_

—_Greg Noll_

* * *

It was probably a bad idea.

I mean, it wasn't like I was an expert at surfing. I had taken a few classes and I could catch a few waves and not look totally stupid out there, but I wasn't a master at it. I was just lucky, I guess. Still, luck or not, when Sam told me that he had never been surfing, I insisted that he had to try it.

"I don't know how," He told me with a shrug, his eyes ducking behind his bangs. We had only been dating a few months, but I had noticed that hiding under his bangs meant that my boyfriend was slightly embarrassed. "I've never done it."

"That's why you should do it then!" I emphasized, smiling brightly at him. "I'll show you how." He hesitated for a few moments, indecision clearly written on his face. Then, he met his eyes, grinned and nodded his head.

"Yeah, sure," He replied. "Why not?"

And like the hopelessly romantic fool I was, I hugged him.

* * *

The waves were calm when we had arrived, Brady and my roommate Amber in tow. I was excited and eager to get Sam surfing with me. Amber had let me borrow her spare board, as she was more interested in sunbathing then getting in the water.

"Salt water is bad for you," She had stated matter-of-factly before she plopped down on her towel. "Have fun though." Brady decided to keep her company, a thought that delighted my roommate to no end. I chuckled and headed with the extra board to where my boyfriend stood, awkwardly blinking in the sun. There was a bit of a crowd here, a situation that I found usually made Sam uncomfortable. I had asked him about it before, only to receive some half-assed response that was clearly a lie. He didn't talk about his past and I accepted it. One day, I would need to know about how Sam came to be the Sam that I had fallen in love with. I wanted to know about his family. He knew practically everything about mine—I told him stories nearly everyday about some random thing that my mother informed me about in the hopes that he would share something about his family.

All I received was a quick grin and a, "That's great, Jess."

One day, I would get to the bottom of this.

One day, he would tell me everything.

But one day wasn't today and so I pushed all thoughts of Sam's past from my mind and focused on the task at hand. Placing the board on the sand, I pushed some of my blonde hair behind my ear and tried to recall everything I had learned from those lessons a few summers ago.

"Ready?" Sam beamed and I nearly melted. Was it possible to fall so deeply in love with someone that you had only been with for a short time? Amber would have a field day with this. She was all about flings, rather than long lasting relationships. She definitely would not encourage this.

"Let's do this."

"Okay," I found myself smiling too, my worries soothed by Sam's presence. "Here's the first step."

The teaching began.

* * *

All in all, Sam mastered the basics rather quickly.

Then again, I hadn't been surprised. My boyfriend had always been a quick learner and often understood topics on the first explanation rather than having to go back and ask for clarification. After teaching him how to push up and stand up, we headed into the water, not too far away from shore but enough to ride a few baby waves. Within minutes of the first wave, Sam was up and he was doing way better than I had ever done on my first try. He was laughing too and the darkness that lingered in his eyes—the sadness that he tried to cover from me, the mysterious feeling that he was hiding some huge pain from me—faded away and was replaced with a childlike joy.

"You like it?" I called to him as he came to stand by me. Water clung in his hair and gave him a slightly sexy appearance. I mean, seeing him shirtless had been a perk in teaching him to surf, but I had forgotten how in shape he was for a guy that didn't really play sports. He was toned and tanned—the perfect California combination—but he was more than his good looks. What attracted me to Sam was his mind, the way he would passionately discuss topics that he cared about whether that be his future life as a lawyer or the score of the football game. That was what I had grown to love about him.

"It's great." He assured me, before wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me towards him for a kiss. As we broke apart, I chucked and let our hands intertwine.

"Yeah, well, I can still surf bigger waves than you." I challenged lightly. It was true—Sam was still riding those little waves. I had, on a few times, ridden bigger waves though that been a few summers ago and I wasn't sure if I still had the ability to do so.

"We'll see about that." Before I could even open my mouth, he was paddling out and I watched with amazement as he caught some bigger waves. In a way, I felt proud. I had taught Sam this and for once the invisible burden that he carried around on a daily basis had seemed to vanish.

Things were looking up.

"Sam!" I called, motioning him to come back. I was bit hungry and we had been at this for a few hours. Some food would do us both good. My boyfriend met my gaze and nodded. He prepared to catch one more wave and I waited patiently.

Only this wave was much bigger than the others.

Sam and I realized too late and for a second, I saw Sam up on the board. In the next, the water crashed over him and he was pulled down into the watery depths. I didn't wait to see if he came up before swimming out. My voice screamed out his name, but it only confirmed what I already knew.

Something had gone wrong.

Sam was drowning because of me.

I used to swim on a swim team in high school. It was an easy way to stay fit and I had always felt in home in the water. Now though, it felt like the ocean had turned against me as the current tried to pull me back to shore and away from Sam. Still, determined I put all of my strength and kicked as fast as I could. I made it out to where Sam had been under in about two minutes.

"Sam!" I frantically looked around, only for my foot to brush up against something solid. Sucking in a breath, I dived down and grabbed my boyfriend's arm and yanked us back up to the surface. "Sam, can you hear me?" His head rolled limply on my shoulder and I cursed. This wasn't good; this was so far from good—

"Jess!" Brady and Amber were in the water now and Sam's roommate swum up to my side, helping bear some of Sam's weight. Amber took off running for the lifeguard, but the cabin was far down the beach and I knew that they wouldn't be back in time. My vision blurred, a mixture of water and tears, as we laid him down on the warm sand. "He's not breathing." He was slipping away, he was dying and it was my fault because I had wanted him to surf. I had insisted and now look—

Seeing his still chest stirred something within me, cut through the fog and I found myself moving on instinct. I started CPR compressions, willing my whole being into the process, begging him to come back to me. His face was blurry and I didn't have time to wipe away the tears. I kept moving, thankful that I had been a lifeguard a few summers before I graduated high school and that I had been certified. I wasn't useless; I could start atoning for my mistake.

"Dammit, Sam," I half growled and half sobbed. "Breathe!"

He remained lifeless for a few seconds.

Then, he was gasping and coughing, water flowing from his lips and relief slammed into me, nearly knocking me flat on my face. My arms caught me and somehow, I stayed somewhat upright.

"Sam, hey, it's okay," Brady helped turn him to his side, easing the flow of oxygen. Amber and the lifeguard were here now and my roommate appeared by my side, helping me sit upright. I was exhausted for some reason that I deduced to be from the adrenaline crash. "Dude, you scared the crap out of us." Sam's eyes flashed to mine and ashamed, I looked away.

"Sam?" The lifeguard quickly took charge, pulling out his kit. "Can you tell me what happen?"

I watched the scene unfold with an odd sense of detachment. My head hurt and the world seemed to be spinning. My stomach and growled and I realized that an adrenaline crash coupled with low blood sugar probably didn't add up to anything good. Brady pulled Sam to his feet and the lifeguard continued his inspection. I could see a sluggishly bleeding gash on his temple. He must've hit something when he fell—his board or a rock maybe?—and the guilt surged through my veins.

"Jess?" Amber watched me with concerned eyes. "You okay?"

I had almost killed my boyfriend.

No, I wasn't okay.

"You'll be alright," The lifeguard concluded, bandaging Sam's cut with a small patch of white. "Just take it easy. If your head bothers you after a few days, get it checked out by the local hospital. Other than that, it looks like you got lucky. It's just a flesh wound."

Because almost drowning was lucky.

Right.

"Jess?" Amber's voice dripped with worry, but I couldn't force myself to speak. I was ashamed and tired and deep down, I felt so sick with guilt. How could I have let this happened? "Jessica, what's wrong?"

The lifeguard turned to face me now, expression darkening. He opened his mouth and it formed words, but I couldn't hear anything. All I could see was Sam's lifeless body on the sand. I had killed him—he hadn't been breathing for a few seconds—and it was all my fault.

"Jess?" Sam's voice now and I lost it.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. My knees buckled and I felt myself falling into the dark abyss.

* * *

When I came to, Sam was there.

"Hey," He murmured and I glanced around. A photo of Amber and I from spring break last year greeted me on the side table. My stuffed bear—a joke gift from my mom—was pressed onto my side. My dorm room was silent though and the shades had been drawn. I dimly wondered where Amber was. "How're you feeling?"

"M'not the one who almost died." My voice was thick was exhaustion and I ran a hand through my hair. Sam shot me quick grin that made me sick inside. How could he still look at me like that?

"I've had worst." He informed me gently. Somehow, I didn't doubt it.

"Sam, I'm sorry—" His eyes widened with confusion.

"What? Jess, no—"

"If I had just let it go the first time you said no," My eyes pricked with tears as the image of Sam disappearing beneath the waves filled my mind. "I'm sorry. You almost drowned and I—"

"Jess," He gripped my hand and held it within his own. "It's not your fault, okay?"

"But—"

"Jess," He interjected softly, voice strong. "It was just a freak accident. You couldn't have done anything to have prevented it." He grinned at me and I huffed out a laugh. His hand felt warm within my own and I was relieved to have him here.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine," He assured me. "Just a bump to my head. I had the clinic check it out." I nodded my approval. "You, on the other hand, scared the hell out of me. You just dropped, Jess, and I thought—" Sam's voice faded and I nodded my head sympathetically. I knew what it was like to see the person you love appear so lifeless.

"Adrenaline crash?" I guessed haphazardly and Sam nodded his assent. "Sorry."

"Tell you what," He began with a small grin on his lips. "How about we stop scaring each other? Sound good?"

"Deal." He pressed a kiss to my hand and I smiled softly.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time, why don't we just go out for ice cream?"

His only response was to laugh, his eyes lighting up with rare, unadulterated joy.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I feel like I should just write a story full of Sam/Jess moments at the rate I'm going . . . anyways, I hope you liked this chapter. I had lots of fun writing it! Please review if you have a second! _


	10. You and Me and the Devil Makes Three

_**Author's Note: **__So . . . I'm way late. I know and I'm really sorry. Long story short, real life has been insane and I haven't had time to write. I'm working on it though so updates should be more frequent. Also, I've been doing some thinking and I thought that maybe I would open up requests keep this story going through the summer and maybe end in June or July. Of course, I wouldn't have daily updates if I did this (I do have other stories to attend to) but I thought since it's summer it would be fun. Plus, who doesn't love hurt Sam? Anyways, let me know if this interests you._

_ Today's great prompt comes from __**reannablue**__ who asked for, "Do you remember how Dean learned how to play golf when he lived with Lisa? I was thinking that he decides to teach his little bro how to play. Sam could suffer some back issue or any other injury of your choice." Thank you so much for your prompt and I'm sorry it took so long for me to get this to you. I hope you enjoy it! Please know that I've never played golf before. Please forgive me if I made some huge mistake about it in this chapter. Let's set this in early season 7, okay?_

* * *

"_To find a man's true character, play golf with him. " _

—_P.G. Wodehouse_

* * *

It delights Sam to no end that his older brother took up golf when he lived with Lisa.

"Dude," Dean chides, practicing his swing. They're on the some golf course in Florida after hours. They had saved the owner from a vengeful spirit and in gratitude, the old man allowed the two brothers free roam of the course. Dean was thrilled and was Sam . . . well, needless to say, he was surprised. Golf has never interested him and he always assumed that it wouldn't appeal to his big brother either, especially given Dean's love for all violent sports. Golf is just so . . . different. "Stop staring. You're gonna make me lose focus."

"Sorry," Sam suppresses a chuckle, but his older brother sighs, placing a ball on the tee. He takes a few swings. "It's just . . . golf, Dean? Really?"

"Yes, really, Sam." His older brother replies exasperatedly.

"But . . . no one is fighting."

"I know."

"There's no tackling."

"I know, Sam!"

"And it's not violent—"

"That's not the point!" Dean replies sharply and Sam is slightly taken aback by his sharp tone. His older brother meets his gaze, a darkness flashing in his eyes. "When you were . . ." He runs a hand through his hair nervously. "When you were gone, I had to find some way to keep breathing. Lisa taught me golf and I just . . ." He shrugs, his free hand gesturing dismissively. "I don't know, Sam, it just gave me something to focus on instead of you burning in Hell."

Sam understands.

When Dean had died—when he had burning in Hell because of Sam—there were plenty of things the youngest Winchester had tried to give his mind a brief respite from the constant litany of "It should be you, you should be dead" on repeat in his mind. Of course, he had never found the one thing to keep him going, but if Dean had found his in golf, well then, who was Sam to judge?

"Can you teach me?" That takes Dean aback. It was clear, judging from his older brother's slightly shocked expression that Sam's question is the last thing he was expecting.

"What?"

"Teach me?" Sam whispers softly, unsure if asking this was the right move. Dean might shut down and might move on from this and act like nothing was bugging him.

"Sure, come here." Sam nods his head and comes closer. He grabs the club from his older brother who is now standing slightly behind him. His hands tighten on the club as his older brother talks him through how to do a proper swing. Sam lets the reassuring voice wash over him, pleased for once that the Devil hasn't shown up to ruin this moment. He can't remember the last time he and Dean had some time to relax.

"I got it." Sam tells his older brother and Dean steps back, ready to observe with a critical eye. Taking a deep breath, Sam turns his body slightly and then swings. He hits the ball and watches it fly, though it lands in a sand trap a bit too far left of what he had been attempting to reach. Still, it's close and Sam feels a bit proud—

"Wow, Sammy," The youngest Winchester freezes as Lucifer strolls up behind him. The Devil places a hand on his back and pain flares up. Sam groans, his knees buckling from the white-hot pain. Dean doesn't seem to notice, as if he's frozen in time. "Look at you! A real Tiger Woods, huh, Sammy?"

"You're not real." Sam grinds out, because dammit, he isn't real. He's out, Dean got him out, and he's pressing on the scar but nothing seems to be happening and Dean is still frozen.

"No, Sam," Lucifer smiles mischievously at him, grabbing the golf club and twirling it around. "This isn't real. None of it is. You're with me, bunk buddy!"

"No." Sam murmurs because Dean had seemed so real—

"I'm the Devil, Sammy," Lucifer replies. "I mean, what kind of guy would I be if I couldn't pull off that kind of illusion?"

"But—!"

"Hey, Sammy," The fallen angel continues, bringing the golf club close to Sam's head. "Why don't we see if I do any better, okay?"

And before Sam can open his mouth, Lucifer is swinging the club to his face and there's pain.

Then, nothing.

* * *

_It's not real, Sammy, you gotta believe me, please snap out of it, please for me, please, Sammy, I'm real, we got you out, you're safe, whatever you're seeing isn't real, you are safe, I've got you—_

"C'mon Sam!" Lucifer chuckles with demented glee and he hits Sam's broken body with the bloody golf club. "Talk to me! I think I'm doing pretty well for my first game. What do you think?"

"Dean, please." He's curled up in the fetal position, eyes closed, willing this to end, but he knows—he always knew—that Lucifer was right. He's still in the Cage. But . . . if that's true, why does he hear Dean's voice washing over him?

"Just an added effect," Lucifer answers. "I know you miss big brother."

He swings the club again and a rib shatters.

_Believe in me Sammy, you gotta believe in me, trust me, I will never let him hurt you again, I will keep you safe, you're okay, open your eyes, please Sam, I need you to open your eyes, please, it's not real, please—_

* * *

When he finally opens his eyes, Dean's worried face swims into view.

"Jesus," He swears, pulling Sam up from the ground. They're still at the golf course and quickly, the youngest Winchester glances down, but there's not a mark on him. He meets Dean's gaze and his older brother nods. "You're okay, Sammy."

"What—?"

"You tell me," Dean replies, worry giving way to slight anger. "One minute you were swinging a golf club and the next, you just went down."

"I thought . . ." Sam's voice trails off uncertainly and the eldest Winchester nods. Of course he knows what Sam thought. Dean's always known, even when Sam didn't.

"We got you out, Sammy," Dean whispers, voice breaking slightly. "You're safe. I promise you." It's a lie, though one needed by both parties. Dean can't protect Sam from his own mind and it's only a matter of time before the youngest Winchester snaps completely and never comes back from one of these episodes. Still . . . until that time came, Sam had to keep going. He didn't want to leave Dean and he would fight to stay with him.

"I know, Dean." He reaches out and reassuringly squeezes Dean's shoulder. "Now, why don't you show me how it's done?"

"Yeah, okay." His brother is on autopilot, but hopefully the game will snap him out of this. Dean explains each step before he swings and Sam nods, just pleased to be able to be here to experience this with his brother.

Because, sooner or later, the Devil would take him back.

It was just a matter of when.

"Ain't that the truth, Sammy," Lucifer chuckles, wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders. "Ain't that the truth."

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This chapter turned out darker than I had intended, but I liked it all the same. I hope you did too. Please review if you have a second! _


	11. Waiting

_**Author's Note: **__Hey everyone! Hope your day is going well! Today's prompt comes from __**goldfishie1 **__who asked for, "How about Sam getting sun poisoning and Dean takes care of him." Thank you for this prompt! I really enjoyed working on it. Set this in early season 5. __**Please note: this chapter deals a bit with suicidal thoughts. If this bothers you in anyway, please do not read.**_

* * *

"_Cause now again I've found myself _

_So far down, away from the sun _

_That shines into the darkest place _

_I'm so far down, away from the sun again _

_Away from the sun again." _

—_3 Doors Down, "Away from the Sun"_

* * *

He's waiting.

Waiting for Dean to walk out at any moment, waiting for the eldest Winchester to turn around and say, "You know what, Sam? You let Lucifer out and I think I was wrong. We really should never see each other again." He's waiting for the anger and dark flashes of guilt to pool in Dean's eyes, for the disappointment to bog down his brother's body. Hell, part of him is even waiting for his brother to grab his gun and press it to Sam's temple and blow his brains out.

He supposes that would be a fitting end.

_I'll just bring you back again._

He shudders as Lucifer's voice echoes in his mind and he forces his eyes to open and stay focused on the road as Dean guides the Impala down the lonely road. There's nothing notable in the scenery, nothing that he hasn't seen in five other states, but it gives him a slight distraction from the chaos that is his mind.

Sam is waiting to be kicked out of the car and abandoned.

He just doesn't understand why Dean seems to be waiting for the right moment to do so.

"You okay?" Dean's voice is gruff, his eyes mildly concerned and Sam waves him off.

He doesn't deserve to be looked at like that anymore.

He wishes Dean would just get it over with already.

Sam is tired of waiting.

* * *

Castiel stares at him with a look that speaks volumes but Sam doesn't have it in him to decipher it. He and Dean are discussing something, but the youngest Winchester has tuned out, his mind racing with possibilities. He wants to be taken out quickly, but he wonders if maybe a bit of suffering is what he deserves. Would Dean kill him here or out on the road somewhere? Truthfully, Sam would like to bleed out on a semi-comfy bed, but it would be hard to get rid of the body without attracting suspicion if Dean gave into that wish.

He supposes he'll have to wait to find out.

"Sam?" The angel is now in front of him and Dean has gone somewhere, the door open. It's hot as Hell in this room what with the AC broken. The eldest Winchester probably went to go get ice or something.

"Yeah?" The youngest Winchester's voice is rough and dry. He hasn't been drinking or eating much lately as he hasn't been hungry. Dean tries to get him to eat though why he bothers is beyond Sam. If anything, being skinnier would help his brother in the long run.

"You seem ill." The Messenger of the Lord states matter-of-factly.

"I started the apocalypse, Castiel," Sam replies, the words sending guilt down his spine. "I think being sick the least of my problems." This seems to trouble the angel for he opens his mouth to speak when Dean bursts in, ice in a bowl.

"Cas, what were you saying about a lead or something?"

Sam just tunes out and waits for it to be over.

* * *

It's been 2 weeks, 14 hours, and 27 seconds since he and Dean reunited and nothing has happened.

There have been no fights, no "I told you so, Sam", no lecture about how he damned the world—nothing. Frankly, it's freaking the youngest Winchester out. He supposes that Dean is biding his time, carefully planning like he does for any hunt. That is what Sam is after all—a supernatural freak that doomed the world. He deserves to be put down like the freak he is.

"Hey, you okay?" Dean pauses from cleaning his gun to look up at Sam, green eyes worried. "You've been really quiet lately."

"I'm fine."

"Sam—"

"Just . . ." His voice is thick with grief and if he talks anymore, it will all pour out and Dean doesn't deserve to be saddled with this. He needs to get out and get some air, to get away from here, to find a ditch to crawl in and die. "I need some air." He moves to the door before his brother can say anything.

And then, he's walking down the road, waiting for some sort of divine retribution to strike him down.

* * *

It's hot.

He distantly remembers it being mentioned on the news how temps would reach over 100.4 degrees. He doesn't have any water, but he doesn't care. If he just lays down here, maybe it will all be over.

"Winchester?" The voice startles him and he turns around to see a woman in her mid-30's with hair as red as blood. She regards him with a cool gaze. He doesn't know where she came from—he's pretty far from town now—but she stands there alone and determined. "Sam Winchester?"

"Yeah?" His voice cracks and his body seems to realize how much it craves water. He's dizzy and he sways where he stands. Still, the woman remains still, her expression neutral.

"You don't know me, but . . ." Her voice trails off and he notices a tear roll down her cheek. "You, uh, saved my daughter and I a few years back." She smiles softly. "We had a ghost in the house and you and brother got rid of it."

He distantly remembers it—it had been a pretty straightforward job, but it had come down to the wire towards the end. Still, they had saved both of them and apparently; they had been okay since then.

"Oh . . ." He doesn't really know what to say.

"Are you okay? You look kind of sick."

He tries to nod his head, but his head pounds and he finds himself sinking to his knees.

"Whoa, hey, hold on," The woman comes forward and holds him up, preventing him from fully face planting. "Hold on, okay? I'll get you some help—"

"Sammy!" A voice distantly calls.

The world whites out then and Sam falls, waiting for the oblivion.

* * *

The world he awakens to is not a motel.

Instead, he comes to lying in a bed that is more heavenly than any he's ever felt. Soft sheets are tucked in around his and the comfiest pillows that he's ever felt support his head.

"D'n?" His older brother's face swims into view, relief evident in his gaze.

"Hey, Sammy," He places a cold cloth on Sam's face and it feels wonderful. He leans into it, to get more of its coolness. "It's okay. We're at Kara's place. Remember her? We saved her from a ghost a few years back?" Sam nods and Dean smiles. "Anyways, you're going to be okay. Kara said you got sun poisoning, but it's under control, though, dude, you're going to have one hell of a sunburn later." His brother shudders for dramatic effect. "And, we are going to have a talk about how stupid of an idea it was to go walking in the middle of nowhere with no water, but for now get some more rest."

His eyes have already fallen shut and he waits for the comforting darkness to wash over him.

* * *

"And you boys don't need anything else?" Kara asks, as the trio stands outside her house.

"No, we're good," Dean tells her with a reassuring grin. "Thanks for letting us stay."

"Anytime," She informs them, beaming. "I mean it, if you ever need anything, let me know." The boys nod their heads and get into the car. They pull out of the driveway and soon, they are on the same road that led had welcomed them into this no-name place.

"So."

"So?" Sam asks, tilting his head to the side in confusion. His skin still hurts, but Kara had some aloe gel which worked wonders. He's actually better off than he thought he would be.

"You wanna tell me why you decided it would be a good idea to just get up and almost die outside?"

"Dean." Sam sighs.

"No," His older brother growls. "I don't know what's going on with you, but ever since we got back together, you've been walking on eggshells around me."

"I have not." He half-heartedly protests.

"Sammy, if Kara hadn't found you, you would've died. So, tell me what's going on."

"Thought we didn't do chick-flick moments—"

"I said now, Sam." Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightens ever so slightly and Sam caves. He tells him about the waiting, about the uncertainty of his fate, of how Dad's final orders to Dean seem to be on repeat in his mind. He explains how he feels like maybe it would be a good thing if he just gave in and let go of everything.

He doesn't even realize they've stopped the car until Dean has pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

"Jesus, Sammy," Dean whispers, and Sam leans into his touch, feeling relieved for the first time in a long time. "Don't you ever think that. I need you with me, okay? I would never hurt you! Fuck Sam, I would kill someone who even thought of doing that to you!" The grip tightens. "Sammy, things are screwed up now, but we'll get through this. It will work out."

Sam believes him.

After that, he stopped waiting and started living.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I hope you enjoyed that! I had a really fun time writing it. Please review if you have a second! _


	12. Feel the Heat

_** Author's Note: **__Well, hello there! It's been an extremely long time since I've updated this story. Needless to say, it's that time of year when real life becomes insane and I hadn't found very much time to write. Good news though, I will have plenty of time starting now! Please expect more frequent updates. Also, I was thinking about modifying this story a bit. I had originally intended for this story to start in May and end in early June; however, I thought maybe I should re-open requests and have this go until August. If I did this, updates would be like every other day instead of every day. The title would then become the "Summer of Hurt Sam" instead of the one it has now. I'm deciding this via a poll on my profile. Please go vote because I would love your feedback!_

_ And now, on to today's wonderful prompt! This comes from __**Leahelisabeth **__who asked for, "As for me, I have this extremely sadistic love of stuffing Sam in boxes for Dean to find so I would like to request a baddie stuffing Sam in a very small box and leaving him in the middle of a desert. I would love some claustrophobic, overheated, dehydrated Sam who is very confused about what is going on. When Dean finally finds him, he is in pain from being all curled up and hallucinating from sunstroke and that makes him VERY clingy." Clingy Sam coming right up! Thank you for this prompt! It's really fun! _

_ This is set in season 3. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_When you can't make them see the light, make them feel the heat."_

—_Ronald Reagan_

* * *

"You are our King," The woman told him quietly, a hopeful grin on her lips. Her golden hair had been pulled up into a bun, though some curly strands of it hung down and kissed her ivory skin. Her jean shorts displayed her long legs to perfection and her purple tank top revealed more than might have been intended. Yet, it was her eyes that Sam could not look away from as she advanced towards him for they were as black as the darkest abyss and held nothing but coldness in them. "You must accept your place."

"I want nothing to do with you or your kind," Sam spat, struggling against the spell that the pet witch of demon had cast earlier. That girl had gotten scared and ran out, leaving one pissed off Winchester facing a very worshipful demon. "I'm not your king."

"You are though," Her voice held so much joy and happiness within it. "Azazel chose you; you were the last one standing." She curtsied deeply, her gaze downcast. "You are our king."

"Never." Sam protested. How had such a simple evening gone wrong? Dean had gone out for a few beers and the youngest Winchester had decided to stay in to do some more research on breaking Dean's deal. They were approaching Vegas week, something that his older brother had demanded would have no research in it. They were close to the strip—only a few towns before it—so the youngest Winchester had been stepping up his work. He had been looking over an ancient text and the next thing he knew, he was surrounded by the demon and her pet witch and was being held in some other motel room.

Dean would be pissed.

Ever since Bela shot him, his older brother had gotten a bit more protective over him than usual. Yeah, Sam could understand why, but with Dean's life hanging in the balance, the youngest Winchester couldn't really find the will in himself to care. After all, if he died, Dean would be out of the deal—

Not that he wanted to die, of course, but the thought had occurred to him. He had to hold out hope though that they would find something else. He didn't want to leave Dean's side. They were brothers again and the demon that had ruined their life was dead. He wanted to enjoy life and if he could get rid of the deal, they would be able to do just that.

As soon as he managed to get out of here.

"Why would you deny who you are?" She lifted her head up and looked at him, clearly flummoxed. "As our king, you could command legions of demons."

"I don't want—"

"You could save your brother's soul." Judging by the sinister smile that appeared on her lips, Sam knew that she had hit her mark. He struggled against his invisible bonds to no avail.

"How do you—?"

"Everyone knows," She dismissed with a wave of her hand. "As king, you could change everything. Your brother could live."

The thought washed over him and despite how right this demon was—as king, he could save Dean—he rejected it. For one thing, he wouldn't be human anymore and for a second thing, his older brother would never forgive him. Becoming one of the things that they hunted . . . it would kill Dean.

No, there had to be another way.

"No."

A pause as the demon went from pleased to confused to angry.

"Fine," She spat. "Then, you shall die."

With a snap of her fingers, everything went black.

* * *

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean growled as he paced their now empty room, looking for something that could explain why his geeky, younger brother—who had sworn he wasn't leaving said room—had somehow seemingly vanished. Running a hand through his hair, the eldest Winchester tried to gather his thoughts and calm his mind. The incident with Bela had put him slightly on edge—he had almost stayed in with Sam tonight just because he had a hard time letting the kid out of his sight—and now Sam had pulled a disappearing act.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Looking for someone?" A cool voice asked him and immediately, he pulled his gun out and aimed it at the chest of the intruder. It was only then that he noticed the salt line had been broken and their protection wards had somehow disappeared.

"What the hell did you do with my brother?" Because he had no doubt that whomever this was had done something with his brother. The woman stepped from the shadows and with one hand, removed her bun. Her sunshine-like hair tumbled down her back and if she weren't evil and he had seen her in a bar, Dean would've hit on her.

"Why does he protect you so?" The woman mused, her expression slightly distressed. "I offered him everything—the kingdom, the legions of faithful servants—and yet he rejects his destiny." Her gaze narrowed. "For you. He gave it all up for you."

"Where is my brother?" He couldn't focus on what she was saying, not now. He knew demons wanted Sam, but he had never thought they would hunt them down and break past their security measures.

"All he wanted was to get you out of your deal," She smirked slightly. "Well, I guess him dying would do that, won't it?"

No.

Visions of a bloody and broken Sam falling into his arms, fading away as Dean desperately tried to make things right, to save Sam because _that's my job right, take care of my pain in the ass little brother? _

No!

He blinked and forced himself out of the awful vision. Sam was alive and he would be okay, as soon as Dean found him. It would be okay. Everything was going to be okay.

"Where is he?" The eldest Winchester growled, summoning up the fury of John Winchester in his voice. He was done playing games—he wanted his brother and he wanted him now. He readied his gun, not caring if he killed the human that the demon was possessing. For Sam, there was no price too steep.

"If I take you to him, will you still kill me?" She asked him, almost shyly.

"What?" Because out of all the possible responses that had passed through his mind, this was not one of them.

"I'm tired of this," She explained, sounding surprisingly sincere. "If Sam will not be our king, then there is no point to this anymore." She held his gaze. "So, I ask you again, if I take you to him, will you kill me?"

"Yes."

She smiled softly and snapped her fingers.

* * *

It was too small.

And hot.

Too hot.

He had forgotten what coolness felt like. He had forgotten what it felt like to be able to breathe without walls pushing down on him.

_Guess you couldn't save me after all, could you, Sammy?_

"M'sorry, D'n." His tongue was heavy and the world was spinning. Dean said things occasionally but whenever he tried to reach out to him, his older brother vanished. He couldn't move really and he wondered if this was how it would end for him.

The heat was too intense.

He was thirsty.

His lungs could no longer expand like they used to.

He was dying.

_Always knew you were a quitter, Sammy. You never wanted this life, did you?_

"D'n." His vision was spinning and darkening around the edges.

The last clear thought before he succumbed to it was that Dean was never going to let him out of his sight if he somehow survived this.

* * *

_Bang._

The Colt did its work as promised and the demon fell to the ground with a muted thud. The sand seemed to embrace her, but Dean spared only a glance at her. No, his gaze was focused on the extremely small, metal box that held his brother.

"Sammy!" He scrambled towards the box, cursing at the metal burned his hand. If it was this hot on the outside, Sam would—

No, he couldn't think about that.

Whatever it was, Dean could handle it.

"Sammy, just hold on, okay?" He managed to pry the lid off and cursed at the sight of his little brother, who had somehow been stuffed into this much too small box. Sweat shone his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin. He pulled his brother out and gently laid him down on the sand. It wasn't the ideal situation, but he had to get a grasp on how bad his little brother was. "Sam? Hey, can you hear me?"

There was nothing.

"Sam!" He placed two fingers to his neck and breathed a sigh of relief as the pulse registered. It was too fast, but hey, he would take it. They had to get out of this heat before Sam's brain fried. "Alright, I've got you, hold on." Somehow, he managed to get them upright and he half-carried, half-dragged his little brother to the Impala. Cranking up the air, he grabbed the ice cold bottle of water he had grabbed from the motel and with a quick apology, began to splash the water on Sam's face.

Two murky hazel eyes met his gaze.

"Hey, you with me?" He beamed down at his little brother, beyond relieved.

"S'funny," Sam slurred, voice thick with exhaustion. "D'n, you were . . ." His brother chuckled.

"Yeah, okay," He replied in a placating tone. "Can you drink some of this for me?" Sam took the water bottle, but his hand shook and some of the precious liquid spilled onto the seat instead.

"D'n?"

"What?" The older brother had the water bottle now and he managed to help his sibling drink a few sips.

"D'n?" Sam mumbled, coughing as he wiped his chapped lips.

"What, Sammy?"

"M'not really your brother." Dean's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, but he waved it off and attributed it to the heat.

"You're right," Dean conceded. "I'm better looking."

"No," Sam protested. "M'blood . . . it's bad, Dean. M'one of them." A bit perplexed, the eldest Winchester glanced over his brother, wondering what the hell he was talking about.

"Sam—"

And then he was cut off as a very hot little brother sluggishly wrapped his long arms around him.

"M'sorry, D'n," His little brother whispered, holding tightly onto Dean. "M'not good. M'bad. Dad was right. Kill me, D'n. Please—"

_If you can't save your brother, you have to kill him._

_ Sam's lifeless eyes staring up at him as they moved him from the ground in Cold Oak to the Impala. His cold hand limply being held within Dean's own. The tears he shed as he realized that he had failed and Sam had gone someplace that he could not follow._

"Sam, what the fuck are you talking about?" Dean snapped as fear turned into fury and he pushed his brother back. Hazel eyes blinked at him and filled with confusion.

"D'n?"

"Sam, what were you saying?" His little brother chose to list to the side instead and instantly, Dean was there, supporting him as he came to rest in the seat. "Sammy, you good?"

"Missed you, D'n," Sam whispered contentedly. "Don't go 'way, kay?"

"I'm not going anywhere Sam."

And seemingly content, his little brother closed his eyes.

* * *

The world he came back to was deliciously cool.

The Dean he came back to was full of relief and seemed to be functioning by sheer determination alone.

"It was close for a bit," His older brother explained, coaxing some water down Sam's throat. "But you'll be okay."

"M'fine," Sam insisted, patting his brother's hand. "Get some sleep." Dean nodded, but didn't move. Sam sighed. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What is it, Dean?"

"Do you . . ." His brother hesitated, and instantly Sam was more alert. Something was clearly worrying Dean. "Do you remember anything you said when I found you?"

"No." It was true—it was all a blur of images and jumbled words. "Why? Should I?"

"No," His brother replied with a tight grin. "It was just the heat." Then, he rose from his position by the bed and turned off the light. "Get some rest, Sammy."

His eyes stayed open long after his brother's breathing evened out.

_One day, you will have to face what you are. Your blood is not human and you know it. Your father knew it too. If you will not be our king and accept it, then you deserve death._

She had stuffed him in a box and left him to bake.

The worst part about it was that she had been right.

He had known about the demon blood for almost a year now. He hadn't said anything to Dean because he had been a coward and he had been scared of what his brother would say if he found out.

"Move over."

"Dean, what—?" His brother unceremoniously shoved Sam to the side and climbed into the bed.

"Just shut up and go to sleep. You think way too loud."

Sam just smiled.

And for the first time in a long time, he dreamt not of Hellhounds and fire, but of the rumble of the Impala and Dean's laughter.

They would get through this.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__There we go! I really liked how this chapter came out and I hope you did too. Please review if you have a second and please vote in that poll. Thanks! _


	13. Excuses

_** Author's Note: **__Hi everyone! Hope your day is going well! Here's just a reminder to vote on the poll on my homepage if you wish to extend this story through the summer. I'll be making my decision shortly! _

_ Today's awesome prompt comes from __**sylvia37**__ who requested, "Season 7 setting. Sam is trying to make up to Bobby for trying to kill him, but working too hard in the heat causes him to have a flashback/seizure and he ends up getting hurt in the process. Cue Bobby/Dean for H/C." Thank you so much for this prompt! I have altered it, just a bit. This chapter is set in season 6 as I believe in season 7, Sam did not have flashbacks and seizures and instead Sam saw Lucifer. Forgive me if I'm mistaken. Anyways, this is set just after "Mannequin 3: The Reckoning". Thank you so much for this prompt! I always love writing Sam bonding pieces with other characters. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_To err is human, to forgive, divine." _

—_Alexander Pope_

* * *

_"Sam—"_

_ "You said so yourself, Dean. It's an easy hunt. You can do it without me." _

_ "But—!" _

_ "I'll be fine. You need to—"_

_ "—stay with you, Sam! I mean, with the wall—"_

_ "I can deal with this myself—"_

_ "I'm not saying that you can't! It's just—" _

_ "Just what, Dean?" _

_ "I'm saying that maybe we should take a break until you're fully back up to—"_

_ "And let people die?" _

_ "Jesus, Sam, could you just for once focus on you? This case can be handled by someone else—"_

_ "Like who? Garth?" _

_ "I don't know, Sam! Someone else, okay? We are not the only hunters—"_

_ "Other hunters aren't as good as you, Dean, and this thing will kill again and soon—!" _

"Boys." Bobby sighed in the kitchen as he finished washing a cup. They were upstairs and at it again. Ever since the two had returned from their latest case—both a little shaken—it had been non-stop arguing. From what the gruff hunter had gathered, the duo had faced the effects of the wall breaking first hand and it had not been a pretty sight. Sam had thought he was in the Cage and Dean had thought Sam had been dying—both scenarios filled the family friend with worry. Sure, he and the youngest Winchester hadn't really been on the best of terms lately, but he didn't wish any harm on the kid.

That soulless bastard of himself though, that was another story entirely.

Bobby knew that the version of Sam that had tried to take him out hadn't been the Sam he knew since the boy was a kid, but it was a part of him. Some part of the kid deep down was capable of doing what that soulless guy had done. Though he could see the guilt swimming in the youngest Winchester's eyes every time they met each other eyes, the gruff hunter couldn't fully forgive, not just yet.

Dean may have been able to put what had happened in the past and just write it off, Bobby couldn't just yet.

So, both Bobby and Sam had been doing a dance of sorts, each avoiding the other in the hopes of preventing any awkwardness. Yeah, he knew that the more they avoided that inevitable showdown, the more he hurt Sam's feelings—Dean had already chewed him out for that—but it was hard to look into the eyes of the man who had almost killed him just a few weeks ago.

No, avoiding this was best for everyone in the long run.

The door slammed up above and Dean clumped down the stairs and barreled into the kitchen. Silently fuming, the eldest Winchester stomped over to the fridge and pulled out a beer.

"That bad?" Bobby ventured.

Dean just cursed.

"So, what are you going to do?" The old family friend continued as Dean continued to take a few more sips of his drink.

"I'll go," He replied quietly, his eyes flashing with something akin to worry. Bobby's expression softened. He didn't blame the boy for wanting to stay. From what he had heard, Sam's seizure had been intense and had worried his already on-edge brother. "It's just . . ."

"If it helps," Bobby began, weighing his words, but knowing that he had to say this because dammit, these boys were his family and he couldn't let soulless Sam's actions tear that apart. "I'll look after him."

"You will?" Dean's tone was skeptical, not that Bobby blamed him. The eldest Winchester had noticed the great lengths Bobby had went through to make sure he and Sam hadn't really crossed paths.

"Yeah."

And for the first time since the two had returned, Dean grinned.

"Thanks, Bobby."

* * *

Dean left the next morning.

He exchanged a few words with Sam and left Bobby with strict instructions to call in case anything happened. The youngest Winchester stood out in the yard and waited until long after the Impala had faded into the distance before coming inside. It reminded the gruff hunter of a much younger Sam waiting for his father and brother to return from hunts.

Things had changed so much since then.

Sam was no longer a child—he was a man who had died to save the world and was now a ticking time bomb. Dean had a weariness that hung around him, but that fierce desire to protect his younger brother hadn't faded. And Bobby . . . well, he was running scared like a girl from Sam.

"Dammit." He cursed quietly he glanced out the window to see Sam standing in the yard with a look of determination on his face. Nodding to himself, the youngest Winchester vanished into the shed where Bobby kept all of his spare tools. The gruff hunter knew he should probably go outside and clear the air with the man he practically viewed as his surrogate son, but tendrils of fear still gripped him.

He resolved to fix things soon.

* * *

It was two days later that the older hunter noticed—things were being fixed.

The backdoor which used to squeak now closed without a sound, the broken window upstairs had been fully repaired, the dent on his truck had been pounded out—either he had a friendly spirit fixing things or Sam had been working while Bobby had his back turned. He smiled a bit at the thought—leave it to the youngest Winchester to try to apologize not only through words, but also through his actions. Nodding to himself, Bobby gathered up his resolve and headed outside to finally deal with the problem that he had let go on for too long.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Up here." Bobby craned his neck to see Sam up on the roof, cleaning out the gutters. The older hunter shot him a grin and startled, the young hunter eventually smiled back.

"You need any water? It's hot as hell out here." He stiffened, realizing that he had spoken of that place, but the remark didn't seem to bother Sam. No, the youngest Winchester was practically beaming and Bobby wondered why he hadn't simply sucked it up and talked to the boy earlier. Sure, he still had a bit of fear—he had almost died after all—but this was Sam, after all. The kid was on the roof helping out without even being asked.

"Nah, I'm good. Just let me—" He stopped talking mid-sentence as an odd look flashed over his face. His brow furrowed in confusion and Bobby waited for something else to be said.

"Sam?" An edge of concern appeared in his voice and he watched as the young hunter placed a hand on his head. Shaking it slightly, his breath started to come out in huffs.

"Bobby, something's . . ." His head fully fell into his hands as he cried out in pain.

"Sam, just hold on—" The older hunter was already moving towards the ladder that was resting near the back of the house. His joints protested as he broke out into a run, but he ignored the pain. Sam was experience who knew what and Bobby would not stand by and just let it happen.

_Thud._

"Sam!" He ran back to the front of the house, only to see Sam's still body on the ground. Sweat shone on his forehead and for a brief second, Bobby couldn't even tell if he was breathing. "Jesus, Sam, answer me!" He placed two fingers to the pulse point and prayed that something was there.

There was nothing.

"No, Sam, no," Bobby muttered, readying for CPR. "Come back, son." He punched in 9-1-1 and quickly told the ambulance where to go and then promptly hung up on the operator at the end of the line. "Sam, please!"

Funny, he had been scared of his own death and that fear had been an excuse to push Sam away. That feeling was pathetic to what he was feeling now. John's youngest son was slipping away right before his eyes and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it.

By the time the ambulance got there and the paramedics pushed Bobby out of the way, Sam still wasn't breathing.

* * *

All hospital waiting rooms are the same—whitewashed walls and tile floors, chairs designed for long vigils, and just a general feeling of foreboding. Bobby sat in a well-worn chair directly across from the door that Sam had vanished down. It had been nearly an hour since the young hunter had been taken in and no one had come out to update him on Sam's condition. He had already called Dean and left a message. Hell, he had even prayed to Castiel to see if there was anything the angel could do, but so far there had been no response.

"Family of Sam Singer?" Bobby was up and in front of the doctor within two seconds flat. She smiled politely at him and he listened as she explained that Sam had been stabilized and yes, he would be all right. "But, I have to ask, does he have a history of seizures?"

"No, not really." The gruff hunter was pretty sure seizures from Hell didn't exactly count as a having a history of seizures. The woman frowned slightly, but then perked up.

"Well, we'll look into it then," She grinned. "Now, would you like to see Sam?"

"Yes."

"Right this way."

She left him as soon as they stood in Sam's door. Bobby instantly took a seat by Sam's left and securely took ahold of one his hand. Squeezing it gently, he sighed. Sam was hooked up to God knew how many monitors, but at least he was alive. The fall from the roof hadn't caused too much damage and the old family friend felt truly lucky.

"Sam, I . . ." His voice faltered. He wasn't good at this sort of thing. Karen had always been the master when it came to speaking. She could spin fabulous tale out of seemingly nothing and she always spoke her mind. It had been one of the things that had first attracted him to her. "I never should've let it get like this. I'm an idjit." God, this was worse than a Lifetime movie, but the words needed to be said regardless. "I just want you to know . . . I need you to know, Sam, that I'm here for you. Whatever it is—the wall, or whatever—I'm here for you." He tightened his grip on the younger man's hand. "Just . . . get better, okay?"

Sam slept on; Bobby sighed. What had he been expected? That he would pour his heart out and Sam would suddenly wake up and be better? This was real life, not a damn chick-flick!

"Getting soft in your old age, Bobby?" A voice spoke up and Dean entered the room, eyes locked on his brother's sleeping form.

"Dean—"

"Hey, Sammy," Dean beamed in the way that only a big brother could do. "Seems like you got in some trouble again, huh bro? When you get out of here, we're gonna have a talk about climbing up on roofs."

They were a messed up, broken, little family—an old man and two brothers who had been to Hell and back—and yet, Bobby realized that he wouldn't trade them for anything. He had never known what a real family was until he had let these boys back into his life.

"Idjits." He murmured fondly.

Yeah, he had made some mistakes when it came to Sam, mistakes that he truly regretted, but he had time to atone for them. He had another chance to show the youngest Winchester that he did care and that he was appreciated. When Sam woke up, they would have a talk—an honest to God, feeling bared talk—and they would clear the air and fully patch things up.

"And then, dude, I thought you were gonna faint or something girly like that." Bobby smiled at his boys and squeezed Sam's hand lightly in response.

Only to feel a squeeze back.

Startled, he looked down and saw two hazel eyes meeting his gaze.

"Hey, Bobby." Sam whispered and Bobby huffed out a laugh.

"Hey, Sam."

It was time for a new beginning.

Yeah, that sounded like a plan.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__There you go! Please review if you have a second and vote for the poll on my profile! _


	14. Little Things

_** Author's Note: **__So, after looking at the results of the poll, all those who voted wished to extend this story. As such, welcome to the 1__st__ annual "Summer of Hurt Sam"! What does this mean for this story? Well, first of all, I'm re-opening requests! Other than that, nothing is really changing. My update speed might not be as fast (I do have other stories I need to attend to this summer) but this way, I'll be able to do more prompts and write more chapters._

_Prompts can consist of a word (example: jet skis), a first line or phrase (example: Castiel was beginning to notice that summer was Sam's least favorite season) or a situation (example: Sam and Dean are at the beach hunting a water spirit that's been drowning people. All seems to be going well until the spirit gets ahold of Sam. Cue Dean to the rescue.)._

_**In order for your prompt to be filled, please observe the following ground rules:**_

_First, I am a Gen author. __**I don't write slash of any kind.**__ Sorry! I do accept cannon pairings though._

_Second, I only write stories T and below. __**Do not give me an M-rated prompt.**__ Nothing about rape or lemons or anything like that!_

_Third, __**Sam must be hurt in this story**__. You can be specific about what you want Sam to endure (example: sunstroke) or you can leave it up to me. Either way, Sam will be the one that gets the brunt of the hurt and someone else will take care of him._

_Fourth, there is a theme that must be followed. That theme is summer. __**Your prompt must have something to do with this theme.**__ It can be any aspect of summer, just make sure that you pick something when you submit your prompt._

_Please __**DO NOT submit multiple prompts**__**.**__ I will only do one. If you have many ideas and you want me to choose, just list them all and state whether you have a preference. If not, I will pick the one that appeals to me. This goes for people who have already had a prompt fulfilled as well. To be fair, __**I will only be fulfilling one prompt per person**__ and I do accept anonymous prompts. _

_**To leave a prompt, simply write it in a review.**_

_And lastly, prompts are fulfilled the in the order they are submitted._

_That's a lot of info. If you have any questions, feel free to ask! _

_So, now that that is out of the way, today's cool prompt comes from __**Miuda22**__, who asked for, "Could I please have a story where Dean finds out Sam was injured while at Stanford when he is re-injured while on a present day hunt. The original injury could be from an accident of some kind or because Sam helped someone and was injured for his trouble." Thank you for this prompt! I always love doing some flashbacks to Sam's time at Stanford. Please enjoy this chapter! _

_This is set in season 1._

* * *

"_Know you not that a good man does nothing for appearance sake, but for the sake of having done right?" _

―_Epictetus_

* * *

It's the little things Dean has to be careful about.

A book—which Jessica used to read before bed.

A candle—which she used to light in the living room.

A cookie—which she used to bake every weekend before finals.

It's the tiniest things that could set Sam off, spiraling back into that deep pit of grief that tries to claim him. The elder Winchester brother must always remain vigilant, but sometimes he can't shield Sam from everything.

Like today, they are sitting in just another one of those dime-a-dozen cafes that every small town seems to have, drinking that crappy excuse of muck they call coffee and the sun is shining and there's not a cloud in the sky. It has all the ingredients that are need to make a great day and Dean is about to comment on this when he sees that kicked puppy look on his little brother's face.

"Sammy—"

It's too late for words though; the tears have already started and all the older brother can do is glare at anyone who dares to give Sam a funny look and awkwardly offer his support. He doesn't really know how to make things right—he's never loved a girl nor spent as much time with one as Sam did with Jessica—but he'll be damned if he just lets his brother suffer.

"It'll be okay," Dean soothes, wishing that he could say those words with absolute certainty. But Dad is missing and the demon is on the loose and they don't have any leads. Still, he's never been one to let his little brother flounder. "We'll be okay."

He only finds out later that the menu that Sam had been looking at had a special sandwich called the "Stanford Slam".

It's the little things that he hates now.

* * *

It's a normal hunt by all accounts.

Find the spirit, dig up the grave and then salt and burn. It's pretty cut and dry and Dean knows he could do this hunt with his eyes shut. It certainly helps things that their spirit was a grandmother when she died and she doesn't seem like causing trouble now. Sam's digging up the grave—he had volunteered for it actually and Dean had let him, hoping that the physical exertion could take his mind off of his troubling thoughts.

The little things Dean can handle.

He can avoid all of Sam's triggers—he can shield Sam from them for as long as needed—but the one thing he can't protect his brother from is his own mind. It's always working, that brain of his. Even now, the older brother can see how his little brother is blaming himself—the broken expression on his face spells it all out. It doesn't help that Sam is barely functioning on any sleep at all since whenever he closes his eyes, he relieves his girlfriend's death over and over.

_Why, Dean? Why does it matter?_

Those were the only words that Sam had spoken to him after one of these nightmares. It had been a particularly nasty one and instead of sobbing like he usually did, Sam had just met his gaze, his eyes devoid of all emotion, his voice monotone—like a man who had seen too much and lost his will to go on.

It had scared Dean to see Sam like that.

So, if the kid needed to dig up graves for the next 100 hunts to come out of this thing alive, fine! At this point, Dean was seriously considering having an all-out chick flick moment.

Anything to give Sam something to hold onto during this storm.

There was nothing he wouldn't give to help Sam.

Nothing at all.

"How's it going?" He keeps his voice casual, but Sam hasn't spoken in much too long and honestly, it's worrying Dean. Sam doesn't say anything, simply just stops shoveling and rubs his right shoulder. "Sam?"

"My shoulder," His little brother manages to say, his expression lined with pain. "It hurts." Immediately, Dean grabs the shovel and helps his little brother out of the grave.

"Where?"

"It's fine." Sam replies with a sigh.

"Where?" It's not a request—this is an order. His little brother points and Dean dutifully inspects it, but can't seem to find the source of the wound. He lifts up Sam's shirt and freezes suddenly. Marring Sam's skin is a scar—barely visible, but Dean knows every scar on his brother's body and this is not one that he's familiar with. "Sam—" There's urgency in his tone now because Dean has seen his fair share of scars and he knows that only a blade could've caused this mark.

Someone stabbed his little brother.

"It was at Stanford," His little brother interjects, voice eerily calm. "The night I met Jess actually."

"She stabbed you or something—?" He's attempting for humor, but it fails. He can't really bring himself to care though because he can't look away because someone stabbed his little brother.

And Dean hadn't been there.

He hadn't been watching Sam's back.

"Don't," The youngest Winchester locks gazes with him and smiles softly. "It wasn't your fault. It was stupid. I got in over my head."

"What happened?" Dean grounds out, trying to keep his temper in check because no one fucks with a Winchester and gets away with it, no one.

"A guy was hitting on Jess," The way he says her name with a wistful sigh slowly breaks Dean's heart. His brother must've really loved this girl. "She wasn't interested."

"So, you saved her—?" Because leave it to Sam to help the damsel in distress.

"No, she was doing a good job herself," He chuckles and Dean grins. Jess must've had a fiery spirit. "But then his buddies showed up and she was outnumbered."

"You stepped in." Of course, his baby brother would. He had always been sticking his neck out for other peoples' sakes ever since he had been a kid.

"I did," Sam confirms. "I was a bit rusty and the guy with the knife got an opening. Someone called the cops, but by the time they got there, all the guys had been taken care of and Jess was driving me to the hospital."

And even though this whole story horrifies him—Sam had been hurt and Dean had been in God-knows what states—he chuckles because, in the end, everything had ended up well.

"She gave you her phone number?"

"No, actually, she had to fill out a police report and by the time I was stitched up, she was gone." Sam answers calmly. "We didn't meet officially until a week later when my roommate Brady introduced us at a party." He runs a hand absently where the scar is. "It just hurts sometimes."

"Yeah, scars can do that sometimes."

They sit there for a few moments in silence, each contemplating what the future would be like from here. Would they find their father? Would they kill the demon?

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"For what it's worth," Sam shyly meets his gaze. "Thanks. For, you know, not giving up on me." A million responses pass through Dean's mind, but he settles on one he knows Sam will understand.

"Anytime," He waits a second for his message to be understood. "Samantha."

And when Sam punches him with his good arm, Dean laughs for the first time in weeks and he notices that Sam does too.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I'm thrilled with how this chapter came out. I hope you are too! Please review and request if you have a second! _


	15. Clumsy

_** Author's Note: **__Thank you so much for all the kind reviews! They really brighten my day. Today's prompt comes from __**dina spn**__ who requested, "Okay I want a back injury for Sam NOT hunt or monsters related, maybe he slipped while doing something." One story with a very clumsy Sam coming up! Thank you so much for your prompt! This is set in season 2._

* * *

"_I'm not clumsy, I'm accident-prone!"_

—_Daniel Radcliffe_

* * *

Ever since he was little, Sam has always been a bit clumsy.

When he first started walking—weeks earlier than what was expected—he crashed into a chair after he seemingly tripped on nothing. When he first learned how to ride a bike, he managed to somehow fall off and pull the bike down on top of him. The few times he played sports on a team, he ended up being hit by the ball no matter where he was standing on the field.

In short, Sam has always seemed to have trouble find him, whether that trouble was supernaturally related or not. Normally, Dean would laugh off his brother's general clumsiness and tease the hell out of Sam for it. Lord knew he had gotten more laughs from his little brother just walking around and somehow tripping than in any of those comedic movies.

Now though . . . now, things had changed. Dean was under orders to save Sam or kill him—an option that he refused to think about because he would save Sam, he would keep him safe—and he worried about how clumsy Sam really was. The Yellow-Eyed demon was out there and he had his sights set on Sam and Dean couldn't handle any more heart attacks being caused just because his brother found someway to injure himself. There were more important things to focus on and with their father dead, Dean was the last line of defense in protecting his brother.

He would be damned if that demon took anyone else from him.

So, maybe that was why he snapped.

"Jesus, Sam, would you just sit still?" He shouted, letting all of that fear turn into rage—a Winchester trait. His little brother just stared up at him with wide eyes, a look that a toddler Sammy had used many times. On the floor—he had tripped on a blanket—the youngest Winchester sighed and shook his head before getting up. At the flash of hurt in Sam's eyes, Dean instantly regretted his actions. He reached out a hand to grab Sam's shoulder, but the youngest Winchester just turned away. "Sam—"

"I'll be back."

And like he had so many years ago in a motel room so similar to this one, Sam walked out that door, leaving Dean behind yet again.

* * *

Dean waits a record of five minutes before heading out after his brother and only after he has made sure that his temper was under control. Sam had never responded well to anger. As a kid, he had always been into that girly crap that led to talking about feelings. Dean had grown up with John Winchester's rules—if it causes you pain, turn it into fuel for a fight—but Sam had always rebelled against that. Maybe Dean couldn't voice all he was feeling and thinking—John's last words in particular—but he could at least try to meet Sam somewhere in the middle.

The town they are staying at is one that Dean has seen in at least three different states—a small place with only one motel and a few shops. They've only been here two days but already the eldest Winchester has the place mapped out in his mind and he knows where Sam would go if the kid was upset. The local library is surprisingly nice for being in a middle-of-nowhere town and as he enters through the brass doors, Dean spies the familiar mop of brown hair.

"Oh my stars," The elderly librarian cries. "Are you sure you're alright?" That puts a spring in the eldest Winchester's step and he finds Sam surrounded by a toppled bookshelf. Encyclopedias litter the floor and Dean watches as Sam, with a pained smile on his lips, picks up the books and puts them back until the case is back in order.

"I'm fine, ma'am," Sam lies easily and if the eldest Winchester brother wasn't worried, he'd be a little proud. "Really, it was my fault."

"That old thing was going to come down on its own soon enough," The woman replies with a warm smile. She notices Dean and moves out of the way. "Well, I'll leave you then. Let me know if you want ice or something." She disappears into the back and Dean pulls his baby brother up.

"What happened?" He questions quietly as the youngest Winchester hisses from the pain.

"I was grabbing a book and the shelf came down," Sam replies through clenched teeth. "Guess today isn't my day, huh?" He doesn't say anything and just guides his brother outside and helps him sit on the curb. Silently, he inspects his brother to see for himself how bad the injury is. "When are you going to tell me?"

"What?" Dean replies, distracted slightly as he continues checking Sam.

"Whatever it is that has been bothering you since Dad died." His hands freeze in mid-air, though his expression is schooled. He should've expected this—Sam is so damn perceptive—but though he knows he has to protect his father's secret, he wants nothing more than to come clean.

To share this burden with Sam.

To feel like he has someone that can support him.

"Nothing is bothering me." He hates lying to Sam, but in this case, he has no choice. He has to go on and find a way to save his brother and keep him safe.

He has to do this alone.

"Fine," Sam sighs. "But Dean?"

"Yeah?" Their eyes meet and the eldest Winchester sees for the briefest of seconds unadulterated love and respect in his little brother's gaze. He's almost blown away by it because it's been so long since Sam has looked at him that way. Yes, Dean has always known that Sam has loved him and vice-versa, but ever since the whole Stanford debacle, their relationship has been strained.

Maybe he's not as alone in this as he once thought.

"Just know that you can tell me."

It's as close to a chick flick as the eldest Winchester will allow. He nods and a moment passes.

"Sam?" They're heading towards the motel now to ice Sam's back.

"What?"

"A bookcase, really?"

"Dean—"

"I'm just saying, you almost let a friggin bookcase take you out—"

"It wasn't my fault! I didn't even—"

"Dude, I guess books can kill you!"

"Shut up, Dean."

And as he laughs, Dean finds a bit of burden lifting from his shoulders.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This chapter came with a lot more angst than I intended. Still, I enjoyed writing it and I hoped you liked it. Please review and request if you have a second! _


	16. Stubborn

_**Author's Note: **__Hi everyone! Hope today is going well for all of you. I really enjoy doing these prompts. Thanks for submitting them all! And on to today's prompt from __**Jeanny**__ who requested, "Sam gets the mother of all summer colds but of course insists he's fine. Dean and Bobby have to trick him into resting, taking his medicine, etc." This prompt brought a huge smile to my face! I love writing stories that allow for Bobby/Sam bonding. I feel like we never got enough of that on the show . . . Anyways, thank you so much for this wonderful prompt! This is set in season 2. Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_Being stubborn can be a good thing. Being stubborn can be a bad thing. It just depends on how you use it."_

—_Willie Aames_

* * *

"Sam—"

"I said no, Dean."

"This ain't a friggin' discussion, Sam! You are going to take your medicine and then you are going to get some sleep!"

"Dean, if I don't figure out what the hell is killing those kids we won't be able to hunt it—"

"We? Dude, there is no 'we' on this one—"

"—and more children will die. Is that what you want?"

"Sammy—"

Bobby sighed and coughed a bit as he stepped into his library. There was Sam, sitting at his desk and judging from the sheen on his forehead, he was running quite a bit of a fever. He smiled softly as he met the gruff hunter's gaze and then rolled his eyes as he noticed his older brother's aggressive stance. It had been two days since the boys had rolled into town, ready to help Bobby track down whatever it was that was leaving nothing but pieces of the local children. Bobby had hit a dead end and needed a fresh pair of eyes, but frankly, he also had wanted to see the kids. Ever since their father had died, both Sam and Dean seemed to be more on edge—as if they were expecting the sky to fall and crush them at any moment. The older hunter had intended to get to the bottom of whatever was troubling the Winchesters, but it seemed that fate had other things in store.

Sam was sick, after all. Nothing serious, but for the past two days it had been nothing but a back and forth between his brother and Sam. Stubborn as he was, the youngest Winchester had refused to take any medicine or rest until this hunt was finished.

"Dean, I—" The youngest Winchester's voice abruptly stopped as he coughed wetly into his elbow, his chest heaving as his lungs tried to get the oxygen they so desperately needed.

"Sam—?" Bobby began, but Dean was already at his brother's side, a soothing voice reassuring him as a strong hand rubbed circles on his back. Within a minute, the coughs had dissipated and the older hunter felt like he could finally breathe again.

"I'm fine," He emphasized and Dean scoffed, which earned him a sharp glare from his brother. "I can do this."

"You can get some rest," Bobby insisted, trying to make his voice firm, but feeling a bit out of his element here. He wasn't used to expressing concern for others—he hadn't been since before Karen died—but he couldn't just sit here and let this young man run himself into the ground. "I can take a look—"

"You said you needed a break," Sam recited dutifully. "I've got this." Then, seemingly done with this conversation, his eyes drifted back to the text he was reading. Dean opened his mouth to speak once more, but threw his hands up in the air in defeat and stalked off to the kitchen. Bobby frowned and then followed after him. He found the eldest Winchester rummaging through the older hunter's banged up cabinets.

"What are you looking for?" Bobby questioned, honestly curious.

"Liquid Tylenol or something," Dean replied, voice full of determination that could give anyone a run for their money. "He wants to be stubborn? Fine. I'll just use my old tricks." Pulling a chair out, the gruff hunter sat down and continued to watch as the young man furiously began to pull things out of the cabinets and practically toss them aside. Biting back a scathing remark, Bobby took a deep breath instead, trying to get some inner calm or whatever deep breathing was supposed to give you.

"Old tricks?" He echoed.

"Kid used to act like this when he was in middle school," More plates were pushed aside and a mug almost toppled to the floor. "He was so damn stubborn that I had to trick him into getting better."

"He won't listen to reason?" Dean chuckled dryly and turned to face the seated hunter.

"Not when he's like that, no."

"Alright then." Bobby nodded, his mind made up. Dean's eyebrows rose in slight confusion.

"What—?"

"Make me a list of what you need, I'll make a store run—"

"Bobby, I can—"

"Shut up," The gruff hunter admonished softly. "You two idjits are like family. There ain't nothin' I won't do for family, understand?" The younger hunter nodded quickly and Bobby grinned. "Good. Now, make me that list."

Dean began to write.

* * *

For a kid who managed to get a full ride into Stanford, Sam wasn't very bright when he was sick. In fact, the boy was downright oblivious. Not that Bobby was complaining since it made their job a bit easier when it came to mixing medicine into Sam's food, but it did worry him a bit. What if Sam had gotten like this when he was alone? Would he have noticed a spirit or a demon? Security worries aside, between the two of them, they had managed to get Sam dosed with some medicine and while the kid refused to leave the study, his fever was under control.

"Damn," Dean whispered as he wrapped a blanket around his sleeping brother's shoulders. "This is gonna be harder than I thought."

"Why?" Bobby questioned. "Kid ate his food—"

"Yeah, but he isn't eating enough and he still needs to rest—" Despite his best attempts, Bobby chuckled a bit.

"You're a mother hen."

"Shut up."

"It's cute. Maybe you should watch a few Lifetime movies while you're at it—"

"Shut the hell up Bobby or I will—" Sam stirred and both men froze. After a few seconds of shifting, the youngest Winchester fell back into a restful sleep and Dean sighed, relieved.

"We'll handle this," Bobby informed the older brother. "He'll be fine."

* * *

"Sam," Bobby sighed. "Just a few minutes away—"

"I've almost figured it out," The younger brother replied, dismissing Bobby's plea to come sit on the couch and watch some TV with him. "And since when do you watch TV? Thought you didn't get cable—?"

"Old man finally got sick of just watching Spanish soap operas," Dean quickly interjected, a strong hand resting on Sam's shoulder. "C'mon, Sammy, toss the old dog a bone—"

"What did you just call me?" Bobby retorted.

"I'm busy, Dean," Sam answered with a weary sigh. "Once I'm done."

"Fine, then why don't you just eat some food, okay?" He pushed the plate of tomato soup, with a helpful dose of medicine in it, towards his younger sibling, only for Sam to push it back.

"I'm not hungry," He began. "And if you would just leave me alone, I could finish this faster and figure out what is killing those kids."

"Sam, I told you that I had called some other hunters to look into it. You can stop—" Bobby started, only for John's youngest son to slam his hands on the desk and meet his gaze. Grief and fury flashed in his hazel eyes and the older hunter was taken aback.

"You don't understand!" Sam exclaimed. "I can't save anyone!"

"Sam—" Dean cautioned, his hands out in a placating fashion.

"No!" His little brother shouted. "I couldn't save Max or his family, I couldn't save Jess, I couldn't . . ." His voice broke and Bobby's heart ached for him as a few tears rolled down the youngest Winchester's cheek. "I have these visions and what good are they? I can never save anyone!"

"Visions?" Bobby murmured and the eldest Winchester glanced in his direction, a bit of worry evident in his eyes.

"It's going to work out," Dean assured his little brother in his most soothing voice. "Sammy, it's going to be fine."

"How?" Sam was swaying on his feet now, the exhaustion of the illness finally catching up to him. "How do you know?"

"Because I believe in you," The eldest Winchester smiled a bit, clearly proud to be the older brother of this kid. "And between the two of us, we can handle anything."

"Me and you against the world?" John's youngest son whispered.

"Me and you against the world." Dean affirmed. A look that spoke volumes passed between the two and then Sam nodded his head before suddenly falling. His brother was there and held him up.

"The couch is clear," Bobby quickly told him and Dean nodded his thanks. They moved the younger man there and settled him on the couch. "How is his fever?"

"I'll need to wake him up and give him some medicine soon," He rose from the couch. "But he needs some rest."

"Yeah."

A pause.

"Sam sees things," Dean began quietly and Bobby waited for the rest, knowing that explaining this must be hard for the older brother. "He has visions of people in trouble."

"Like a psychic?" Bobby ventured and shakily, Dean nodded his assent.

"We don't know what's causing it," Dean continued. "But they take a lot out of him. And this guy, Max Miller, he had powers too."

"Like Sam?" Bobby questioned, mentally trying to figure out what this meant. He had met some good psychic friends, but they had developed their powers from a really early age and John had never mentioned Sam having abilities before. And Dean sure as hell would've known about it since that kid knew every detail when it came down to Sam.

"No, not quite," He ran a hand through his hair and sighed softly. "But he blew his brains out right in front of Sam."

"He couldn't handle the powers?"

"No."

And it suddenly clicked.

Dean's greatest fear was losing his brother and that was why he had been waging such a war with this cold. He thought that maybe if he could keep his brother safe from illness, he could somehow save him from these powers and the demon. It wasn't just Sam being sick—it was the idea that maybe, one day, Sam would be so discouraged that he would kill himself to escape the powers.

And Dean was powerless against it.

He couldn't make the powers go away and he couldn't protect Sam from the visions. He had to sit by and watch as his little brother suffered someone else's fate and then he had to watch Sam dig himself into an early grave by putting his own needs aside to prevent whoever it was in the vision from dying. Deep down, Dean wondered whether this vision would be the one that would finally cause Sam to snap.

"Well," Bobby began, his voice thick with emotion. "Sam's one of the strongest guys I know. If anyone can handle whatever the hell this is, it's him." Dean turned to face him, his eyes wide with shock.

"You mean, you don't care about the powers?"

"Sam is still Sam," Bobby insisted firmly. "So what if he can see things in the future? That doesn't change who he is."

And for the first time since his father died, Bobby watched Dean beam.

* * *

For the next couple of days, it was easier to coax Sam into resting.

Dean continued to dose his food until it got to the point where Sam just started reaching for the medicine bottle himself. Bobby gradually began to hide books until Sam got frustrated with looking for them and parked himself on the couch. Dean was beyond ecstatic at his brother's recovery and Bobby was glad that the both of them were doing better.

"Dean told me that you know." Sam whispered quietly as Bobby stood in the hallway.

"I do."

"And?" Sam's expression was schooled, but Bobby had known him for too long not to notice the slight worry in his tone. He wondered how John had reacted to knowing Sam had powers? Had he been angry? Had he been worried? Or, had he known all along and had been playing dumb?

"It doesn't change anything, Sam." Bobby insisted.

"That's what Dean says."

"Guess he does have his occasional smart streaks." The youngest Winchester chuckled, coughing slightly at the end. Still, a smile was on his face and the gruff hunter felt proud that he was able to help, even though there was nothing else he can do.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?" Hazel eyes met his gaze and Bobby smiled fondly. He had known both boys since they were children. He had watched them grow up and become amazing hunters. He would be damned if a little thing like psychic powers would come between his little makeshift family. And any hunter that thought that Sam's powers declared open season on him, well they had better back the fuck off or Bobby would shoot them full of buckshot and not even think twice about it.

This was his family—he would protect them.

"Get some rest."

No matter what, he would keep these boys safe.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This is possibly my favorite chapter so far. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. As always, please review and request if you have a second. Thanks! _


	17. In the Blink of an Eye

_**Author's Note: **__Yes, it has taken me a long time to get this posted, but I was on a mini-vacation and then I suffered major writer's block. Sorry for keeping everyone waiting! Today's chapter comes from __**McGeeklover **__who asked for, "How bout a lake monster and it drowns Sam? Protective scared Dean, majorly hurt Sam, hospital needed even though Dean doesn't want to bring him there. Coma too maybe?" Coma sounds good to me! Thanks for this wonderful prompt. Please enjoy! This is set after "Nightshifter" in season 2_

* * *

"_In the blink of an eye, something happens by chance - when you least expect it - sets you on a course that you never planned, into a future you never imagined."_

—_Nicholas Sparks_

* * *

Things can change in a split second.

You could be crossing a street and not look and the next thing you know, you're bleeding out in the middle of the road. In the blink of an eye, you could go from someone who has it all to one who has lost everything. That was something their father had drilled into them, for as long as Dean could remember. No matter what hunt you went into, no matter how many times you had taken out this type of monster, anything could change in a mere second. You could go from victorious to almost dead and in some rare cases, from almost prey to being the hunter you claimed to be.

Dean had seen many people die because of split second mistakes.

And now . . .

"He's stabilized," Nancy informs him, a sympathetic expression on her face. She's the night nurse in charge of the ICU and though she looks way too young to running anything, Dean likes her. She's honest and has always answered his questions to the best of her ability. "We managed to stop the internal bleeding and many of his injuries have been dealt with and those left alone will heal by themselves." The steady rhythm of the heart monitor fills their room and the pale light that it casts over Sam's bruised face reminds him of a toddler Sammy asking for the bathroom light to be left on to keep the "monsters" out.

Funny the things you remember in the middle of a crisis.

"But?" Because that's their lives—good news never comes without bad.

"He's in a coma."

Shit.

"When will he wake up?" He can't process that—comas lead to death or to a life as a vegetable and no way in Hell would he allow Sam to suffer like this. His baby brother was going to wake up and he was going to get better—"

"Dean—" Nancy begins to argue, but one sharp look from the eldest Winchester silences her.

"When, Nancy?" He repeats firmly, his eyes never leaving his brother's sleeping face, his calloused hands securely squeezing Sam's fingers in the hopes that the pressure will bring his brother back again.

"I don't know," She confesses, frowning. "It's hard to tell with these kind of things." She places a hand on his shoulder and strength shows in her eyes. "But, I do know this, Sam is a fighter. If anyone can beat this, he can."

Dean believes that.

* * *

The hunt was fucked up from the start.

First crucial mistake, going in without more research. Sam had been dying to go back to the library to cross check the town's most recent drowning with those from the same area years earlier, but Dean had insisted they finish the hunt tonight. They were sure that it was just a Kelpie, which was odd considering that they usually were in Ireland and that should've been a red flag right there, but no, they hadn't done their due diligence.

Second crucial mistake had been attempting to kill the water creature at night which, yes, in hindsight was stupid, but the town was small and people seemed to be everywhere during the day.

And the last crucial mistake?

He had let himself get in a position where Sam had to save him.

Turns out the Kelpie was really a Siren and the eldest Winchester had managed to fall under the spell of her song and had almost waded out into the middle of the lake when his little brother came barreling in, shotgun in his hands. He had shot the bitch in her side, which momentarily broke the spell long enough for the big brother to regain his senses and pull out his own gun.

But in that spilt second, the siren had pulled his baby brother down into the dark depths of the lake. He doesn't really remember all that happened after that. Somehow, he had managed to subdue the siren and pull his brother back to shore, only to see the massive cuts on his chest and the blood welling from the wounds.

"Sammy, hang in there," He had breathed as he called for help and began first aid. "Please, just hang on, keep breathing, please—"

The rest was just a fuzzy blur—the doctors told him he had a concussion—but Nancy had filled him in. Turns out, her boyfriend was one of the paramedics that had responded to their distress call.

The facts were these:

Sam's heart stopped twice—once at the scene and once on the operating table.

Dean fought with the paramedics and kept repeating that he "wouldn't lose him like I lost Dad" and eventually had to be subdued long enough for both of them to be transported.

And then of course there was the fact that Nancy would never know—Dean hadn't wanted to come to the hospital at all. It was a gamble, especially after their little "escape" at the bank last week, but Sam had lost so much blood and God, it was Dean's fault.

"I should've let you research more," He whispers to his brother, his own voice hoarse. That's always been his thing—talking. He could charm the pants off of any flirtatious woman in a bar and convince the police and that yes, he was a Federal officer on a daily basis, but only with Sam was he allowed to be himself. "God, Sammy, I screwed up." He let his head fall into his hands and ignored the voice in his mind that sounded suspiciously like his father.

_Look after your brother._

_Yeah, Dad, I know._

Sam just slept on.

* * *

Anything can change in a split second.

Three days later, Sam goes from comatose to up and flailing in a blink of an eye. Dean doesn't know whose more surprised, Nancy who jumped when this happened or Dean who had expected his baby brother to take a bit more time to wake up. Still, he's relieved to see that his brother is okay.

"Bout time, Sammy," He whispers, tears choking his voice because damn, that was too close. "Welcome back kiddo."

Nancy checks over him and with a blinding smile, she pronounces Sam healthy and rushes to get the attending to double-check everything. Dean fills Sam in on everything and his little brother nods his head and interjects his own info that he can recall.

"Guess we cut it pretty close, huh?" Sam remarks and Dean shakes his head.

"It's my fault," He confesses. "I shouldn't have pushed us into that—"

"Dude, it wasn't like you were dragging me kicking and screaming," His brother retorts. "We both made mistakes."

"No, Sam, I was responsible for keeping you safe—"

"I'm not a kid anymore," His youngest brother chides. "I can look after you too, you know."

"But Sam—"

"We're okay, Dean," His baby brother assures him, a tired grin tugging at his lips. "We'll do better next time, okay?"

In a spilt second, anything can change.

Dean has seen good hunters go down because of a bad decision that made in that critical moment.

But seeing his formerly comatose brother smiling at him, Dean can't help but be grateful for how fast things can change.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Another chapter will be out tomorrow. Just and FYI, requests are still open! Feel free to review and request if you have a moment! Thanks! _


	18. Choices

_** Author's Note: **__I'm trying to work on my update speed. Hopefully, updates will be more frequently from now on. Tonight's prompt comes from __**Colby's girl**__ who asked for, "I would like something with Sam getting a severe case of heat exhaustion due to a decision made by Dean during a summer hunt. Lots of hurt Sam and guilty caring Dean." Thank you for your prompt! I hope you enjoy! This is set early season 1._

* * *

"_We are our choices."_

—_Jean-Paul Satre_

* * *

In all honesty, he should've known better.

He had known Sam wasn't quite himself—hadn't been since Jessica died—but foolishly, he had thought that a hunt was the way to fix things. That had been their father's way of coping—the mechanism that he had taught them—and stupidly, Dean had just assumed it work for Sam.

He should've known better.

Sam wasn't like Dad when it came to dealing with things. He liked to talk through his feelings—scream and shout, rather than punch something—but Dean had denied him that. Hunts, for the eldest Winchester brother, were the things that made problems go away. So, he had found something that required them tracking the creature through a wood in Montana in the middle of July and he had just waited for Sam to talk. True, he wasn't one for discussing things, but if this was what Sam needed to pull himself out of his depression then so be it.

Things had gone wrong, of course.

They had split up—Dean's idea because he thought maybe Sam would like some time alone with his thoughts—and though they hadn't even found the damn thing, Sam had still suffered the consequences of Dean's ill-advised choice. He had found his little brother unconscious, unresponsive and burning up.

"It's heat exhaustion," Doctor Anderson informed him with a small frown on her ruby red lips. Sam was hooked up to a saline drip and asleep while Dean sat in a well-worn chair that he had dragged over from across the room to be by his brother's bedside. "You two thought it was a good idea to go walking around in the middle of a heat wave with no water?" She was accusing him of something and though he knew he deserved to be reprimanded, Dean just shot her a hard glare. He had been so pre-occupied on getting his brother better that he had forgotten some of their father's survival rules and it had almost killed his brother.

"Will he be okay?" His voice was scarcely above a whisper, but there was something in the way that he said it that caused the doctor to grow more sympathetic to him.

"His temperature is leveling out," She reported, checking her chart, the pages noisily flipping against the metal. "And he appears to have no long lasting complications." She smiled softly. "He'll be okay." Dean nodded his thanks and the doctor took her leave.

There's a funny thing about guilt—it can consume you whole until your every thought is how you screwed up, how you deserve someone's fate—and oddly, Dean realized now that his father had let that very same thing happen to him. The guilt of Mary's death had killed him—was killing him—and even though, rationally, the eldest Winchester knew it wasn't right for John to blame himself, he felt like it was his duty.

You lost someone you cared about, someone you swore to protect, then yeah, you better feel guilty. In his case, he had let Sam get hurt and that was unacceptable. It went against everything he stood for. Without Sam . . . there was no point in continuing this fight. If he ever lost Sam—God forbid—he would put a gun to his head because while he loved his father, it was Sam that had always been there for him, who had always motivated him, who had always smiled at him.

Sam was, as cheesy that this would sound, his light in the everlasting darkness that was hunting.

And maybe, one day, his baby brother would get out of this life like he promised. He would return to Stanford and his life would go on—white picket fences, a doting wife, 2.5 kids, normal—and where would that leave Dean? These past few years without his brother had been some of the hardest he had ever faced. Some days, he hadn't even wanted to get out of bed in the morning. He had thought about letting himself bleed out once—that had been a few months after Sam left—and he had just stared up at the night sky, blood seeping into the dirt, and he had only moved because of the thought of Sam being upset that Dean would let himself be killed.

Even 1,000 miles away, his little brother had still been saving him.

That was the thing people didn't get—they assumed Dean was the protector, but Sam had been saving him ever since he could remember. Sure, while the eldest Winchester brother did the majority of the physical saving (but Sam was starting to rival him on that front too), it was Sam's being that had saved his life more times than Dean could count. Many hunters either died because they got lazy or because they lost their faith in what they were doing—Sam refused to let Dean do either.

And Dean had almost gotten him killed.

_Look after Sammy. Stay with Sam. Protect your brother._

Dad would be so proud.

* * *

That night was a sleepless one.

Sam suffered a high fever that puzzled the doctor and she immediately begin to administer medication though she appeared more worried than assured when she came in to check on her patient's condition.

"I don't understand," She mumbled as she continued scribbling on her chart. "It just . . ." She shrugged and Dean grimaced. Sam hadn't so much as stirred which worried the older brother more than he let on. While shy, Sam had never been truly silent before. He was always making some sort of noise, be it a huff of annoyance or a small chuckle. To see him so still and quiet now was a grim wake-up call for the elder brother. "It's like he's given up." He was sure she hadn't meant for him to hear it since she had whispered the words so quietly, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, a realization hit him.

Maybe Sam really thought he didn't have anything to fight for.

Maybe with Jessica dead, he thought that he should just give in now.

"Sammy," Dean mumbled, shocked and scared to no end. Yeah, he could admit that. When it came to his brother in the fucking hospital, he had ever right to be scared. "C'mon, don't do this."

He had been alone before; he refused to be so again.

So, grabbing Sam's scorching hand within his own, he began to speak. Words flowed easily and topics varied. He talked about how afraid he was to be left alone again, but also how to fix every single piece of the Impala's engine. When his voice went hoarse, he would sleep, only to wake up every half and hour when a nurse would come to check on his brother. The cycle would then repeat itself.

And when the dawn appeared, the fever had finally broken.

* * *

"Hey, Dean?"

He turned to his finally healthy little brother and waited. Two weeks had passed since Sam had been released from the hospital and his little brother had managed to convince him to let them go on an easy hunt. So, here they were, packing up the rest of their things before they hit the road and left this town in their rear view mirror.

"Yeah?" He tossed his shirts in his bag and grabbed the shotgun from the side of the bed.

"Thanks for what you said," Dean froze. He had been so sure that Sam had been out of it. His little brother grinned and then zipped up his own bag. "And for the record, if I go anywhere, you're coming too." Then, he went outside.

And Dean just grinned like a fool.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **I really loved this chapter! Hope you did too! Please review and yes, I'm still taking requests, so submit those too! Thanks!_


	19. Decisions

_** Author's Note: **__So excited to post this chapter! Today's request comes from Angela who asked for, "Dean accidentally shoots Sam, Cas is the one who comes to the rescue, and as it is summer they can be at the beach (no civilians as it is night)." I'm such a sucker for stories that involve Cas! This turned out to be way more focused on what Sam was thinking in season five and less about Cas, but I love the way it turned out! This is set in early season 5._

* * *

"_In the end that was the choice you made, and it doesn't matter how hard it was to make it. It matters that you did."_

—_Cassandra Clare_

* * *

Few things ever go right in life.

There are always mistakes, always missed opportunities and always regrets. Life is not perfect, nor can it ever truly be so. A perfect life—one devoid of any suffering at all—is simply an artificial one. It's with sorrow and grief that a person grows and matures. Yes, happiness can be a wonderful thing, but without maturity brought upon by experiencing all that life has to offer—both good and bad—a person is nothing more than a robot, devoid of any way to deal with situations. While we all crave to be joyful all the time, joy is only brought forth after much sorrow and hardship.

And yet . . . the desire to make the "right" choice, the wish to fix the "wrong" decision still lingers on.

* * *

Sam has suffered.

He spent his life loving a woman that he had never met, he was disowned by his father for deciding to go to college, he had powers thrust upon him by a destiny that he had never wanted, he watched his brother get torn to shreds after he made a deal to save Sam's life and now, he shouldered the blame for the impending apocalypse.

Still, the youngest Winchester tried to find something to smile about, even in this dark situation. He would watch kids scurry on the playground, their laughter echoing in the air. He could hear women gossip about their coworkers as he entered whatever diner they were near. Whenever he went on an interview for a hunt, he would always take in the small touches of personality in a house—a framed photo of a family, for example—and he would do his best to smile, to act like he was oblivious to the fate of the world, just for the moment. Sam wanted nothing more than to protect these people. People who, if he did his job, would never even know they had been in danger. They could go about their daily lives and complain about dirty laundry and laugh at cheesy sitcoms and they could be the one thing Sam would never be—

Normal.

God, how Sam wanted to be normal.

Even now, miles away from Stanford and years apart from Jessica, he still wished. Granted, it was very seldom now as he had practically accepted the hand that fate had dealt him. Still . . . the longing remained and in his time apart from Dean, he had pondered what life would be like if he had stayed at Stanford, if Jessica had never died and they had gotten married. He pictured himself in that Hallmark-like house with the white picket house and the golden retriever.

But, that was nothing more than a far-off memory.

He was lucky, he knew, to have even his brother back at his side. He had screwed up, he had become an addict and now it was time to pay for his sins. Though he would never tell Dean, he was prepared to die if that was what it took to avert the apocalypse.

He had started and he would end it.

"Sam?"

He blinked and his brother's curious face swum into view. His older brother put down the newspaper and regarded him with a mixture of worry and anger. There was always anger in Dean's eyes now; Sam knew he deserved it.

"Sorry," Sam whispered sheepishly. "I must've spaced out." A pause as Dean processed this and then the older Winchester nodded his head and was on his feet. Things were strained between the two of them and with a pang of regret, Sam knew they would never be the same as they were before. Too many bridges had been burned, too many words spoken that couldn't be taken back.

Still, there was always hope.

"I've got a hunt." His brother told him, voice grave. Gone was the Dean that could joke about anything, whose eyes would light up with happiness at the mere sight of "magic fingers" in their motel room. No, this Dean was weary and always seemed to be running on fumes.

"Okay." Sam nodded, closing his laptop.

And then, they were off.

* * *

It's a simple hunt—catching a rogue water spirit that kept luring people into deep waters and killing them. It's straightforward and they are going through the motions with this one. The beach is empty—it's midnight after all—and their only witnesses to tonight's hunt are the stars that twinkled from their perch up above. They find the spirit and before Dean can say anything, Sam is in the water, ready to finish the job with banishing spell and the holy water when all of a sudden; the water spirit isn't a water spirit anymore. The banishing spell does nothing more than enrage it and its eyes go black—demon, Sam realizes dimly—and the next thing he knows, he's dragged into the ocean. The waves crash over the two of them, the current tries to pull them down and belatedly, the youngest Winchester realizes that he can hear his brother, shouting over the roar of the waves. He fights his way to the surface, sucks in a deep breath before he's pulled back down. His vision is fading and his lungs are exploding and he forces himself back up to air.

_Bang._

It takes a few seconds for his body to register the smoking gun that Dean holds caused the sudden blood gushing from Sam's side. Eyes wide, his brother drops the gun and opens his mouth to speak, but a hand pulls Sam down and the water claims the youngest Winchester once more. He sinks and it is when he finally thinks that this is the end, a strong hand pulls at his arm. Cerulean eyes that seem to glow in the dark depths meet his. Faster than seemingly possible, he breaks forth from the water's grip.

"Sam," A gravelly voice greets and dimly, Sam registers it as Castiel. The angel half carries, half drags him to the shore where the body of the demon rests, eyes blackened from the effects of the holy light the angel used. The angel's grip on him tightens and Dean is there, pushing on the wound and whispering a litany of reassurances under his breath. "Hold on."

But Sam allows his eyes to fall shut because he knows he's in good company.

* * *

In the dark, he finds comfort.

The dark offers a respite from Lucifer begging him to say yes, from fearing about the world ending, from worrying about whether Dean will ever forgive him.

In the dark, he wills himself to slip away.

It's cowardly and he knows that he has to own up to what he did, but a part of him wants nothing more than to be a child that hides under the sheets until the scary monster has passed. He wants to go back to a time when monsters didn't exist, when his father was just a travelling salesman and he and Dean never had any secrets from each other. He wants Bobby to be out of the wheelchair, wants Jessica to be alive, wants his mom to live and him to die in that nursery fire and maybe, he should've never existed at all.

What good was he, really?

What had he managed to accomplish in his life?

Nothing.

Everyone he had loved died and when it was his turn, he was brought back. He was alive and barely functioning and what was the point really?

In the dark, he can hear his brother's voice.

_Sammy, please, I never wanted to—I would never hurt you—please, Sam, come back, hold on for me, okay?_

On and on, it goes. Sometimes, his brother's voice will grow to a quiet murmur, other times it's as loud as the Impala's engine.

_Dean, he needs medical attention._

_ I know, Cas, I just—dammit, Sam, just don't this, don't you fucking do this, not now, not when we were going to be—_

It's always there though.

And maybe . . . maybe Sam's not as alone as he once thought.

* * *

He finds Castiel in the chair beside his bed once he comes to. The angel seems more worn out than usual, but he smiles tiredly when Sam's gaze comes to rest on him.

"Your brother is in the hall," He tilts his head to the side door, where Dean's voice gradually filters through and Sam nods. "You lost a lot of blood," Castiel's eyes darken for the slightest of seconds and Sam wonders just how close it came. "But the gunshot wound was stabilized and the doctor is optimistic about your recovery." Sam processes the info, but bites his lower lip, a bit nervous.

"Dean . . . shot me?"

"Yes," The angel replies solemnly. "He was aiming for the demon, but in the darkness and the fact that he was unable to factor in the waves, he managed to injure you."

"And the demon?"

"One of Lucifer's pawns," Castiel growls, fury coursing through him. "He lured you two in and attempted to capture you—"

"How'd you know where to find us?" That was the one thing that didn't make sense—they hadn't told the Messenger of Heaven about the hunt.

"I've been doing my best to look out for you two," Castiel whispers. "You two are my friends." The last bit brings a smile to the youngest Winchester's face. Funny how things could change over the course of a year. He had gone from an abomination to a friend in the angel's eyes.

"Thanks, Cas."

"Sammy."

And there's Dean, standing in the doorway, cellphone in his hand. His older brother is a bit worse for wear—red-rimmed eyes, some stubble on his face, and wrinkled clothes, but he's okay and that's what matters.

"Hey, Dean." Cas makes up some flimsy excuse and vanishes and Dean is there, taking his place and God, it's been so long since his older brother has looked at him with something other than anger in his eyes.

"I thought—" His older brother chokes out and Sam nods. Close calls with Dean had always affected him, always took him a few weeks to forget the feeling that any second could be his last with his brother.

"I'm okay."

"I shot you." His brother whispers and Sam squeezes his hand, in a show of support.

"I'm okay."

"If Cas hadn't gotten there, you would've—"

"He did get there and I'm—"

"I almost let you—" And suddenly, it's no longer Sam standing on the edge, it's Dean and immediately, the youngest Winchester realizes how scary it is to be the person that has to try and save someone that wanted nothing more than to let go.

Up until today, he had been that person waiting for the fall.

"Hey," He interjects softly. Dean's green eyes meet his and Sam shoots him a small grin. "We're okay."

And maybe it's the sight of his smile, or the strength that belies his words, but Dean just nods.

"Yeah," He breathes out shakily. "We are."

For the first time since Dean came back from Hell, Sam believes it too.

* * *

When Bobby sees them a few weeks later, he can tell that something's changed. The boys are more in sync than they've been in years. As they mill about his house, they have whole conversations based on one look or one word and it brings a grin to the older hunter's face.

"What is it, Bobby?" Sam asks him and Bobby just shakes his head.

"Nothing."

His boys were back.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Super happy with this chapter! Hope you were too! Please review and request! _


	20. Alone

_**Author's Note: **__I apologize for my extremely long absence on this story! I went on vacation and couldn't seem to get my muse to cooperate with me. Anyways, I'm back now with daily updates starting now! Also, __**REQUESTS ARE CLOSED**__. The end of the summer is coming and I would like to start wrapping this story up. To those of you who weren't able to submit a prompt, never fear! I do a story like this in late November for the holiday season. To those of you who submitted prompts before this chapter, they will be done. Anyways, onto tonight's prompt from __**IDreamofParadise**__ who requested, "wild fire." Thanks for the prompt! I hope you enjoy it! This is set in season 3._

* * *

"_I feel fine enough, I guess_

_Considering everything's a mess."_

—_Barenaked Ladies, "Pinch Me"_

* * *

The fever coursed through his brother's system like a wild fire does to a field of dead grass—quickly and without mercy. Nothing could seem to get through to him—not cool compresses, not crushed up medicine mixed with water, not heartfelt words whispered with an air of desperation. Nothing could save Sam from the fiery clutches of this sudden illness and awaken him from his soundless sleep.

"C'mon, Sammy." He didn't believe in prayer—that had always been Sam's thing—but to an outside observer it might appear that Dean Winchester was one step away from falling on his knees and begging any possible deity to help his brother. He chose to dip the now warm cloth back into the dish of ice water and then wrung it out. With a tenderness that few were lucky to witness, he dabbed at his brother's forehead with his left hand while fondly pushing some sweaty strands of hair out of his little brother's face. It reminded him of a much younger Sam, a boy on the precipice of becoming a teenager yet returning to a child whenever he slept. That had been a trying time for both of them, with Sam beginning to fight with their father on a daily basis and Dean wondering why his little brother was questioning their way of life.

"We got through that," He whispered, pretending like his brother could hear him still. "And we can handle a stupid fever, right?" He nodded to himself. They had made it through worse than 104 before. "Right." It was never one of them going up against something alone—they were a team and they always had each other's back.

Or right now they did. In a few months however—

Dean didn't regret making the deal that doomed him to Hell in just a few short months. Seeing Sam dead, hearing his lungs give their final few breaths, watching the color fade from his skin; that had been the breaking point for Dean. He could live without his father though it was fucking hard to do so, but a life without Sam?

Impossible.

Sam was the one who kept him human, who prevented him from becoming another hunting casualty. Sam was his mission in life, the most important person he had. What was he supposed to do, try to make a life for himself as the last remaining Winchester? How was he supposed to go on when the one person that let him know that their job was not a thankless one, that there were still people who needed their help, was gone? How could he have just let Sam go when his whole life's mission had been to protect his baby brother?

How could he let the one last good thing he had left in his fucked up life go?

So, he had made the deal and he had accepted his fate. If Sam would just get on board with the program too then the eldest Winchester was sure that they would have somewhat of a normal last few months.

"But you just can't let it go, huh Sammy?" He told his unconscious brother fondly, dipping the cloth and wringing it once more. He frowned as he noticed the flush on his brother's face and scrounged for the thermometer once more. If the fever got over 104, then the eldest Winchester really needed to contemplate a hospital run. Still, the fever had come on suddenly and secretly; Dean was hoping it would break just as fast. He stuck the thermometer in Sam's ear, grateful his baby brother had told to invest in such a thing for their med kit, and waited.

_Beep._

"Alright, let's see." He pulled the monitor up and spit out a curse.

104.5.

"Okay, it's okay," He assured his brother, placing a hand on Sam's forehead and stroking it with his thumb. "We're gonna be just fine. I promise you. I've gotcha—"

_Sam falling into his arms. Sliding down towards the mud. Lifeless eyes staring back at him as he keep trying to make his brother hold on, giving him reassurance that he was going to walk out of this one alive—_

Dean shook his head and forced the vision to leave before grabbing his car keys.

* * *

"_Sammy, Sam," But it was no use—Sam wasn't even looking at him anymore and without Dean's support, he would've flopped onto the ground by now. "Hey, listen to me, we are going to patch you up, okay?" _

_It wasn't okay though because deep down, the eldest Winchester knew._

_Sam was dead._

_And that was the moment when the dam broke and the tears began to fall because the last good thing he had in his life had been taken away._

"Dean?" A strong tug on his shoulder brought him from Cold Oak and back into the small hospital room. Bobby stared down at him, a well-worn smile tugging at his lips. Seeing the old family friend, the eldest Winchester allowed himself to relax. Cold Oak had been months ago—Sam was alive now and he was going to be fine.

"Sam—?"

"They've got him in an ice bath." The older hunter replied gruffly, sitting down in one of the chairs next to the youngest Winchester's bed.

"Shit," Dean cursed, running a hand through his hair. "Why didn't you wake me—?"

"Because you look like crap," Bobby pointed out frankly. Then, voice softening, he added, "You needed the rest, ya idjit."

"Do they know what it is?" Dean continued, nodding his head in acknowledgement at the small favor Bobby had done. He had been running on fumes by the time that the gruff hunter had shown up and the last thing he had remembered, he was sitting next to Sam waiting for the doctor to come in and talk to them. He must've been more exhausted then he had previously thought to not notice his brother being wheeled out of the room. "And next time, wake me up—"

"They're running tests and getting x-rays done." Bobby answered, passing the eldest Winchester a water bottle. Dean took a swig, relishing the cool liquid running down his throat. Noticing Bobby's intense stare, Dean shrugged.

"What?"

"When's the last time you got some sleep?" The older Winchester brother ducked his head.

"Last night. Why?"

"Bullshit," Bobby retorted. "Last time I checked, bags under your almost bloodshot eyes were a sign of sleep deprivation." A pinch of anger flared up in Dean.

"I'm fine." He ground out.

"Dean, what is—?"

"Mr. Singer," The two hunters turned around to see the doctor standing in the doorway. "I have some information about your nephew's condition."

And with that, Dean held his breath.

* * *

He sat with Sam as his little brother navigated the dangerous line between heat stroke and hypothermia. Too much time in the ice bath could cause his body to go into shock and shut down, but too much time out of it and his fever would boil his brain.

"Hang in there, Sam."

Throughout it all, Dean remained by his brother's side, holding his hand within his own, letting him know that he had something to come back to, that he wasn't alone.

Being alone, after all, was a fate worse than death for people like them.

"Let's try another bath," Sam's nurse muttered. "I don't like how fast his fever is rising." Dean nodded his head. Then, smiling fondly at his little brother, he mustered up his confidence.

"Bath time Sammy," He informed the sleeping man. "Let's kick this thing in the ass, okay?"

Round and round they went.

* * *

"I'm fine, you know." Sam snapped and Dean chuckled as he forced his baby brother to remain in the wheel chair while Bobby got the Impala. Hearing his brother's laughter, Sam pouted which caused Dean to just beam brighter. Just as quick as it had come on, the fever had broken, much to everyone's astonishment. Sam's head doctor had been baffled by the seemingly miraculous turn of events, but chalked it up to hospital grade medicine doing its job—Dean was inclined to agree.

"Doctor's orders, Sam." He retorted, enjoying his frustrated little brother.

A pause passed.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You okay?" A beat as Dean glanced down to check his little brother's expression. The drugs had worn off and the eldest Winchester had just assumed he was going to get a pass from chick-flick moments for today.

"Fine, Sam."

"I mean, are you sleeping okay?" Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Bobby talk to you?"

"Actually, yeah."

"I'm fine." He reiterated, suddenly seeing through Bobby's sudden need to grab the car instead of Dean. That sneaky little—!

"Do you regret it?" Sam interjected suddenly. Though Dean knew to what he was referring to, he didn't want to answer. He didn't do these touchy-feely moments; that had always been Sam's thing.

Still . . . when had he ever been able to refuse his little brother anything?

"No," He told him, eyes locking onto his baby brother's. "Making that deal was the best damn thing I ever did."

And though Hell scared him, he knew he would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant saving his brother.

"I'm going to save you, Dean." Sam whispered fiercely and Dean shot him a grin.

"I know, Sam," He replied. "I know."

Though deep down, they both knew that finding another way to break the deal without killing Sam was impossible. Still, they were Winchesters—they were too stubborn to quit even though the odds weren't in their favor. They would keep trying just because the other one depended on this one last-ditch effort.

* * *

Sam never revealed the truth about his fever—the product of a spell gone wrong after he tried to save Dean's soul—but as he held Dean's broken and bloody corpse in his hands, he morbidly wished that the fever had taken him those few months ago.

At least then, Dean would be alive.

And Sam wouldn't be kneeling down in a pool of his brother's blood, willing his lungs to freeze, for his heart to stop beating and for his eyes to close and never open again.

He was alone now—truly alone.

And it scared him more than any monster he had never faced.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This one turned out longer than I expected, but I really liked it! It's a bit more serious than my other stuff, but still good. Anyways, see you tomorrow with a new update! Please review if you have a second! Thanks! _


	21. Doubts

_**Author's Note: **__Thanks for all the kind words on the previous chapter. I'm glad you all enjoyed it. Tonight's prompt comes from __**Klutzygirl33**__ who requested, "During season five, after Dean drops the amulet in the trash, Sam is kidnapped and tortured by Lucifer in order to get him to say yes. When Dean finds him, he's badly injured and keeps mentioning something about how he won't hurt his brother, even though Dean hates him and doesn't love him anymore. A horrified Dean takes care of him." Thanks so much for this prompt! I had a blast writing it. Enjoy!_

* * *

"_Speak when you are angry and you will make the best speech you will ever regret."_

—_Ambrose Bierce_

* * *

In some dim part of his mind, Dean is still surprised.

Yeah, he and Sam had been having problems and yes, those problems had been worse ever since their horrible trip to Heaven, but deep down, the eldest Winchester just assumed that Sam would stick with him—if not out of some sense of love or loyalty, then guilt for inadvertently causing the apocalypse.

But apparently, he was wrong.

Sam was gone—his stuff too.

"Figures," He whispers as he closes the motel door behind him, trying not to feel that rush of grief that always seemed to flare up whenever Sam took off. He should've seen this coming, especially after he had thrown away the amulet. True, it was something he regretted now, but maybe this separation was for the best. Maybe they weren't stronger together; maybe he had been mistaken this whole time and Sam's heaven was just proof of that. "Guess I was wrong."

Even though his logical mind agreed with this and extolled the virtues of being able to go it alone, his heart ached. Betrayal or not, Sam was his brother and family didn't turn their back on each other. Family never let bridges be fully burned.

Family stuck together even in the middle of the damn end of the world.

Nodding to himself, he pulled out his cellphone and hit his speed dial #1 and waited. Sam's tired voice—when had he become that exhausted?—fills the line as he instructs the caller to leave a message.

"Sam," He softens his voice because despite all the crap that had been going on with them, he still has a soft spot for the kid. "I don't know where you are, but call me. Look . . . we can talk this out or whatever." Then, strongly, he adds, "I'm coming to find you."

Let the search begin.

* * *

No one in the town remembers seeing Sam leave.

In fact, no one seems to remember him at all.

"You had a brother come in with you?" The woman at the front desk of the restaurant questions, her eyes filling with confusion. "Really? I didn't notice." It's more than a bit disconcerting and frankly, it worries him. Perhaps Sam didn't take off on his own after all and if that were the case then the eldest Winchester feels more than a little bit foolish and just plain stupid. How easy was it for him to doubt his brother? How many priceless minutes had he wasted believing that his baby brother had just taken off and abandoned him?

What kind of fucked up big brother was he?

"Wait, the really tall guy?" A young, blonde waitress pipes up as she fills up a root beer. Dean nods his head eagerly and the young woman tilts her head to the side, closes her eyes and thinks for a few seconds. "I saw him. He was with some guy with scars on his face."

And all the blood in Dean's veins runs cold.

Lucifer had come to collect his vessel.

* * *

"What do you mean you can't find him?" Dean fumes as he adjusts his grip on the cellphone while speeding down the freeway, looking for some sign of demonic activity. Lucifer had his brother and was doing God knew what to him and the eldest Winchester was out of leads and ideas.

_"I told you before," _Castiel sighs. _"I branded you and your brother to guard you against angels. I cannot find him nor should Lucifer have been able to—"_

"Well, he did!" Dean growls. "Fuck, I knew I should've stayed—"

_"I shall inform Bobby of this predicament. Perhaps he might be able to help." _The angel's voice softens considerably. _"If there is anything I can do, let me know. If Lucifer has harmed him—"_

"Then I'll burn him in holy fire," Dean swears. "I'll keep you posted." Eyes scanning the road, he curses. This was like finding a needle in a haystack, practically impossible.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he catches a flash of a faded blue sweatshirt and instantly, he knows.

Sam owned a faded blue Stanford sweatshirt—one that he only wore in times of extreme stress as it supposedly brought him some comfort. Throwing away the amulet—the proof of their bond, the gift Sam had given him the first Christmas he had found out—was stress enough and add that to the impending apocalypse, and it was no wonder his baby brother hadn't collapsed under it all. He hastily stops the car and screw anyone who would complain that it's in the middle of the road and then he's out and running to the field.

"Sam!"

The crumpled, bloodied, bruised body lying in the field twitches and with effort, Sam's eyes come to rest on his.

"D'n?" All the previous anger, all the hurt stemming from Sam's heaven just fades away and there's nothing more important than his baby brother and Lucifer better be prepared to suffer because once Sam is okay, once Dean takes care of him, he's coming for the devil next.

"Easy, easy," Dean soothes, trying to access the injuries but unable to get past the shock of seeing so much blood. Sam might need to go the hospital, but Dean couldn't find a wound causing the bleeding. Unless it was internal bleeding and then they had to go the hospital because he couldn't treat that. "Thought I told you not to talk to strangers, Sammy." He means it as a joke, but judging from the horrified look that passes on Sam's expression, it doesn't come across as one.

"M'sorry, D'n," Sam slurs, frantically trying to push himself up and away from his brother. Dean tightens his grip and tries to steady him.

"Don't move, okay? I need to see what happened—"

"Would never hurt you, D'n," Sam swears and Dean eyes him oddly. "Never!"

"I know that, Sam, but just stay still—" His baby brother doesn't seem to hear him and his gaze glazes over and as if he sees someone his older brother cannot, he continues on.

"D'n hates me, but I won't do it," For a second, the eldest Winchester freezes. Hate Sam? Who the hell told him that? Yeah, they had some problems but nothing under the sun could make Dean give up on his brother. "Love him. Won't do it. Can't make it. Protect D'n."

"You have protected me," Dean assures him, resting a palm on his shoulder and gently pushing him down. "Now, let me protect you."

"Don't hate me," Sam's practically crying now, tears rolling down his cheeks and it breaks Dean's heart to see him like this. He runs a hand through his baby brother's hair and lets his thumb stroke his forehead, trying to relax him. "Please D'n, don't hate me. M'sorry."

Deep down, he's horrified. How bad had things been that Lucifer had managed to convince Sam that his big brother no longer loved him? How much pain had Sam endured until he had broken and accepted that supposed "truth" that Dean couldn't stand him? Still, even under all that, his baby brother had refused to say yes, and for that, the eldest Winchester was truly proud.

Though as soon as Sam was better, they were having one hell of a talk.

"I know," He whispers as Sam's eyes begin to droop close. "I'm sorry too."

"Keep you safe." Sam mutters as he falls into unconsciousness.

"Don't worry," He tells his baby brother. "I've got you."

Big brother may have been on a brief vacation, but he was back in full force now and Lucifer better watch out.

Dean was coming for him.

* * *

"How is he?" Castiel speaks up from the doorway of the hospital room. Dean nearly jumps, but refrained from voicing his displeasure at the angel's sudden appearance and simply kept his eyes locked on Sam's sleeping frame.

"They gave him two blood transfusions," Dean reported. "He has a concussion, two broken ribs, one fractured wrist and multiple minor burns all over his body." Castiel's visage darkens.

"Lucifer tortured him." He concludes and Dean nods.

"Nearly killed him." His voice almost breaks because this was too damn close for comfort. Sam was supposed to be okay—he wasn't supposed to be kidnapped by Lucifer and almost killed by the angel that promised to bring him back if he ever died himself. They were supposed to beat this thing together, not be fighting over whether Heaven was real or not. They were supposed to be brothers and have each other's back and somewhere after Heaven, Dean had lost sight of that. He had lost the amulet too and now, he had almost lost Sam.

He couldn't afford any more near misses.

He had to keep his brother safe.

He had to trust his brother.

"But, you found him." Castiel points out.

"It was too close—"

"Better close than too late," He replies logically and Dean shakes his head. The former messenger of Heaven steps closer to Sam's bedside and smiles down at his sleeping friend. "Sam is strong. He is a fighter and he survived. I have no doubt he will recover from this."

"Cas—"

"People make mistakes," Castiel recites dutifully. "Is that not something you and Sam have taught me? As such, people are fortunate enough to learn from them." Cerulean eyes locked onto his. "Have you learned from your mistakes?"

"Of course—" Castiel grins and then pulls something out of his trench coat. Gently, he places it on the table next to Sam. Dean nearly gasps as the amulet stares at him and he grins. "Where did you—?"

"The time for amends is now, Dean." He replies cryptically before vanishing in a flutter of wings.

"What the hell, Cas?" He mumbles, confused. Then, he glances down and saw pair of confused hazel eyes looking back at him. "Sammy?"

"Y'kay?" Sam slurs heavily, exhaustion clearly winning this battle.

"Fine."

"D'n, m'sorry—" He holds his hand up and waits for silence.

"No, Sam, I am." Sam's face alights with confusion. "Look, I screwed up, okay? I never should've believed that was your Heaven and even if it was, I never should've acted like I did." He beams at his baby brother. "Just . . . I've made mistakes and I'm sure I'll make more, but Sam, I will never ever turn my back on you, no matter what decisions you make. You're my brother and I would die for you in a second, understand?" It's the cheesiest thing he's ever said to his brother, but the words needed to be said. Sam had to know that he was loved and nothing Lucifer had said was true.

"Me too." Sam whispers, eyes sliding shut.

"Night, Sammy."

As his brother sleeps, Dean pockets the amulet and knows that there will be a time and a place for it. For now though, he'll just focus on getting his brother back to full health and then surviving the apocalypse.

Because he had no doubts now—as long as he had Sam, Dean knew they could survive anything.

* * *

And when the ground had closed up months later in Stull Cemetery, when he was left with nothing but a pile of dirt, a duffel bag full of old clothes and a few faded pictures of his brother, Dean pulled out that amulet. No one would know of Sam's sacrifice, but an old drunk, an angel and a high school dropout. So, he buried that amulet there, in the exact spot where his brother fell. It was fitting, Dean figured, considering Sam had been his heart and soul anyways.

"Sammy."

And Dean Winchester cried because while they had survived the apocalypse, the price had been too high.

The price was always too high for people like them.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I promise the next few chapters will have a happier ending, but I couldn't get the image of Dean at Stull Cemetery out of my mind. Anyways, please review if you have a second. I hope you enjoyed! See you again tomorrow! _


	22. Sailing Away

_**Author's Note: **__Tonight's awesome request comes from __**Katlover98**__ who requested, "Sam and Dean are out at sea on hunting a rich, crazy, shape shifter. Sam falls overboard and is under for at least 3-5 mins until Dean kills the thing. Afterwards Sam gets a raspy throat because they were out almost the whole no night and had no idea how to get to shore. I don't know, but seems like fun to me." I agree! This prompt was tons of fun to write. Let's set this in season 1, shall we? Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_I'd rather be sailing, yes, I would_

_On an open sea_

_I'd stand at the railing if I could_

_Feeling wild and free." _

—_A New Brain, "Sailing"_

* * *

"Remind me how this was supposed to be an easy hunt?" The youngest Winchester glances down at the rough seas below them, the waves hitting their sailboat as if it was nothing but a child's toy ready to break on its whim. The sky is clear, but that doesn't mean that a storm wasn't already on its way. He had taken a few oceanography classes at Stanford for his GE and he knew that the weather at sea could change in a heartbeat. Still, that didn't mean he hated the open ocean. In actuality, he loved the sea. There was something inherently humbling about staring at the vastness of it, the way it could soothe all his fear away. Jessica had loved the ocean and it seemed like every weekend they would trek to the local beach and stay there for hours.

"I wish life could always be this peaceful," She would murmur to him as they watched the sun set. "But, a moment is better than nothing, right?" She was dead now and the ocean only seemed to remind him of her. In the sound of the waves, he could hear her laughter.

"How the hell was I supposed to know the shifter had a boat?" Dean grumbles, adjusting the sails—a skill he must've picked up during their time apart, as John had never really covered dealing with monsters at sea—and then cursing at the sight of the other, faster boat ahead of them. The shifter is impersonating Captain Fitzroy, one of the wealthiest men on the Florida coast and judging from the number of toys the good captain had, Sam could see why the shifter would be loathe to give up his new life.

"Because the guy was a captain?" Sam ventures and Dean just shakes his head. "Dude, how are we even going to catch up to him?" His older brother tugs on the ropes some more and the main sail blows out as the wind catches it. Grinning, the eldest Winchester points to the sail before returning to the wheel and adjusting their course. Sam smirks and stands on the railing. The shifter's boat is a good 50 feet in front of them, but they are gaining speed. For now, he could enjoy the sea breeze and just try to relax.

_"You're always so stressed," Her soft hands touched his cheek and she grinned devilishly as she leaned her mouth closer to him, blonde hair falling in her eyes. "Maybe I could get you to relax." With that, she kissed him._

He gasps, heart pounding as the memory fades. Seeing Dean's confused expression, he waves it off. He's fine—he just has to keep his head on straight. Focus on getting the creature and then getting off this boat.

Focus on—

A flash of orange interrupts his thoughts.

"Dean?" Sam calls out warningly, unsure if he is seeing what he thinks he was seeing. The shifter's boat had stopped now and the boys were getting dangerously close to it.

"Yeah?"

Close or maybe just in range.

"He's got a bazooka." Sam breathes, realization hitting him. They had been played and it was too late to alter course now.

"Shit!" Dean exclaims, spinning the wheel, but it was too late. They were so close to the boat that they could see the shifter's smug expression and immediately, Sam is running to his brother.

"Get down!"

There's a deafening roar and then the sound of metal biting into the ship. Sam feels himself flying through the air and with a splash; he lands in the lukewarm water. He propels himself upwards only to realize belatedly that he's caught under a piece of debris from the broken hull of the ship. The weight of the debris pulls him down and despite all his efforts he cannot get free. His lungs burn and in that moment, he believes he's going to die. He couldn't see Dean anywhere and he had to believe that was because his older brother was still on the ship and safe.

_"Do you think it's better to die in the water?" She asked him one day as they watched a few surfers laugh in the waves._

_ "What kind of question is that?" He inquired, confused._

_ "I mean," She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, clearly embarrassed. "If we had to die tomorrow, do you think it would be best in the water? Would it be peaceful?" _

_ "Jess, I don't understand—" A dark flash flickered across his girlfriend's expression and then suddenly, it was gone. With a cheery grin, she turned towards him and wrapped her arms around his waist._

_ "Never mind. It was a stupid question anyways." _

_ He only found out later that her aunt had died that day drowning in a lake._

It was odd what you recalled in the last few conscious moments of your life. Conversations that you deemed pointless at the time were suddenly treasured. Moments that had seemed insignificant were now the only ones you could think of.

As Sam fades away, the sun sparkling the water that holds him, all he could picture was Jessica smiling as she met Dean for the first time. It had been his one moment of hope—hope that his two lives could merge into one semi-normal life.

But, death had dashed all his hopes and now, it seems as if the story of Sam Winchester is drawing to a close.

_Sorry, Dean. _

He lets his eyes close.

* * *

There are brief flashes in the dark—a strong arm pulling him up, a desperate voice calling out his name, teardrops on his face—but it isn't until he comes back to reality in a motel room that it occurs to him that maybe he did make it out alive. Beside him, Dean is passed out on a chair he dragged from across the room. Sam motions to wake him when a bolt of pain hits his chest. Cursing softly, he rubs at the phantom pain near his heart. CPR? Had he been under that long?

"S'mmy?" Dean slurs, eyes blinking and in a matter of five seconds, his older brother goes from half-asleep to fully alert. Before the youngest Winchester can even ask any questions, he's pulled into a bone-crushing hug. "Fuck, Sam, you scared the shit out of me."

"What?" Sam tries to get out, but his throat protests and it comes out weaker than he intended. Coughing slightly, Dean pulls back and smiles warmly.

"Don't try to talk, okay?" His older brother tells him. "I think you might've swallowed a bit too much salt water." Sam shoots him a confused glance and his brother relents. Leaning closer, he seems amazed by the mere presence of Sam and that informs the youngest Winchester more than his brother ever need tell him—it was much too close for comfort. "You remember the shifter and his bazooka?"

Sam nods and Dean sighs, shifting his weight.

"Well, he blew the whole damn ship apart. A piece of debris tugged you under," Guilt flashed in his brother's green eyes and curious, Sam titled his head to the side in confusion. "I tried to dive in after you, but that dick had me cornered. I had to take him out before I could get you." His expression darkened and Sam can only imagine the fear his brother must've felt. Dean stiffens slightly and Sam nods his encouragement. "I dove in, found you pretty much unconscious under a piece of debris. I pulled it aside and got you out, but you were pretty much out of it for the rest of the night."

"Rest of the night?" Sam questions, coughing at the end of it and earning a sharp glare from his brother.

"We, uh," Dean hesitates. "Well, the ship was our way back and the shifter had destroyed his own somehow. I had to swim us back to shore and since we were pretty far out, it took some time." Sam rubbed his chest and Dean's gaze dropped to the floor, clearly ashamed. "You flat lined once we got to land, probably had something to do with the pressure of the piece of debris that had been laying on you as well as the whole swimming a few miles to shore."

"You saved me though." Sam points out in a raspy voice, beaming. "Thanks, Dean."

A pause.

"We're not going to have to hug now, are we?" He teases and Sam laughs, an honest to God laugh that he hasn't experienced since before Jessica died. Dean joins in and for a few seconds, it's as if they are two normal men free of the burdens of their job, free from the fear of losing their missing father.

They are just two brothers who had managed to survive something and come out the other side stronger than ever.

"Shut up." He punches his brother on the shoulder and Dean chuckles.

"Dude, you hit like a girl." Sam rolls his eyes.

"Dean—"

"Maybe because you are a girl, Samantha."

"Fuck you—"

"Aw, is wittle Samantha fussy? Want a nap, princess?"

This is his new normal—laughing after a near-death experience with his older brother. This is what he will fight to protect now. Maybe they would find their father, maybe not; but as long as Sam had Dean, he knew he would be okay.

Actually, he would be pretty damn great.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Loved how this turned out! Hope you did too. Please review if you have a second! Thanks! _


	23. Splash

_**Author's Note: **__Sorry for the delay. I had to deal with real life stuff. Anyway, tonight's wonderful request comes from __**mandancie **__who asked for, "Teenchesters! Dean is 17 Sam is 13. They go swimming to cool off from the summer heat and Sam almost drowns." I do love writing some teen!chesters stuff! It seems like a lot of people like to drown Sam and it keeps me on my toes to have to make each time different and exciting for people. Thanks for all the good practice! Please enjoy!_

* * *

"_I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. _

_I do not think that they will sing to me."_

—_T.S. Eliot_

* * *

"Are mermaids real?"

Dean does his best not to burst out laughing or simply tease his younger brother. Sam's staring at him with those damn puppy dog eyes that could get him to do anything under the sun for him and for some reason, the eldest Winchester loses the snarky response he had in his mind.

"No." He stretches his arms above his head, relaxing his muscles and savoring the sweet warmth of the sunshine. They had really lucked out on this hunt—Orlando in the summer—and while their father took care of it, they got to relax.

"You sure?" Sam's eyes are locked on the crystalline blue water and he wonders if maybe his brother saw something out there. Carefully, he scans the ocean's waves, but finds nothing other than a few surfers and a gaggle of hot girls in too-tight bikinis. He grins at that, as it had been too long since— "Dean?" Sam's still waiting for a conformation and judging by the scowl on his face, he saw what had caught the attention of his older brother.

"Positive." Then, glancing at him. "Why? You see something?" His little brother shrugs; his arms wrap around his tiny frame.

"It was nothing." He replies blandly. Smiling suddenly, he heads over to the water. "Let's go!" Dean's a few steps behind him as they rush into the waves. The salty water feels heavenly on their heated skin and honestly; the eldest Winchester wonders why they don't go to the beach more often. His little brother has been moody as of late, often fighting with their father over hunts. He's on a quest for "normalcy", whatever that was. Though it pains Dean to admit it, his little brother was starting to spread his wings and fight for what he believed in. No longer would Sam blindly follow the orders of their often-absentee father. It simultaneously makes Dean proud and ashamed. On the one hand, hunting was their life. It was what they had been trained for and try as he might, Sam would never be able to escape it. It would follow him and always be in his thoughts forever.

Sam knew what went bump in the night and that loss of ignorance would forever stain him.

On the other hand, he's proud because Sam is asserting himself. He's starting to hold his own with their father and while it kills him to watch the two fight, he's happy that his little brother has enough guts to go toe-to-toe with their father.

"Dean?"

"Huh?" His little brother eyes him with concern evident in his eyes and Dean quickly grins. He can't let this be ruined—this one moment of respite from their often-crazy lives. "What?"

"Nothing." Sam answers with a smirk.

Then, he splashes his brother.

"Oh, it's on!" Dean growls and the two begin hurling water back and forth at each other, much like they used to do when they had been younger.

This is what the eldest Winchester fought to protect; and he knew their father did as well, moments like these. Precious minutes when the thought of the demon wasn't present in their heads and they could just be teenagers.

"You win!" Sam shouts, swimming a bit further into the water. "Jeez, Dean, did you have to get me in the face so many times?" He rubs his eyes and Dean just chuckles.

"Aw, Samantha, did I hurt you?"

"Shut up." His little brother retorts. Dean opens his mouth, a witty quip on the tip of his tongue when he notices. A huge waves is hurtling towards the beach and distantly, he can hear the whistles of the lifeguards blaring. Frantic swimmers begin to move but the eldest Winchester realizes it's too late. The wave is moving way faster than wave should be moving and he reaches out for Sam.

That's the last thing he sees before the wave crashes into him.

* * *

"Sir?" Voices distantly calling him, shaking him, bringing him back into the sunlight. Warm sand lies under him and with a groan, Dean forces his eyes to open. Two lifeguards hover anxiously above him and for a few foggy moments, the eldest Winchester tries to piece together what had occurred. "Sir? Can you hear me?"

Sam laughing.

Sam getting swept up by the wave.

He goes from lying down to vertical in no time flat.

"Sam!" He doesn't know where his brother is and that thought in itself is more terrifying than being taken captive by a shifter. He turns to the stunned lifeguards. "Sam, my brother, he was in the water with me!"

"We are still combing the area," The young woman informs him, blue eyes compassionately boring into his. "We'll find him. Just rest for now." As if on cue, he sways. The two lifeguards grip him by the arms and slowly lower him back down/

"No, I have to find him—"

"We will," She assures him. "I promise you." She nods to her coworker and then sprints down the sandy beach. The brunette left watching him smiles and tries to be comforting, but all Dean can think of is his brother. He should be in the water, not Sam.

Seconds pass, then minutes.

His mind brings up the possibility that maybe his brother didn't make it, but his heart quickly dismisses it. There was no life after Sam nor would there ever be. If Sam died, Dean would too—simple as that. Maybe that was wrong, but in a life where they had no permanent possessions, family was everything.

"Here!" A voice calls from the far end of the beach and Dean's back on his feet. The blonde lifeguard rushes down the beach, Sam securely in her arms and the eldest Winchester feels like he can finally breathe. He moves towards them, along with the other lifeguard and muggy hazel eyes glance up at them.

"Sammy?"

"D'n." Sam slurs, content to see his brother above him.

"You okay?" Dean questions, rubbing soothing circles on his arm.

"Chest." Sam points and Dean glances to the lifeguard for conformation.

"He threw up a lot of water," She explains while her coworker pulls out her first-aid kit. "He's going to be just fine."

"Mermaid." Sam mumbled and glanced at the blonde. She just tilted her head to the side in exaggerated confusion.

"Salt water must've gone to your head." She mumbled, but Dean knew the truth. Sam wouldn't have made this up, after all. This blonde woman must've been a mermaid, as weird as that sounds to the older sibling. Still, she had saved his brother's life. He wasn't about to blow her cover.

"Yeah," He said, beaming down at his brother. "Must have."

* * *

"So, she really was a mermaid?" Sam asks, a few days later as their packing up their bags. Their father had given them orders to meet him in Tennessee and as such, their time in Florida was over.

"Mermaids aren't real." Dean replied, half-heartedly. The truth was, he didn't know what to believe.

"But . . ." His face scrunched up in confusion. "I saw her. She swam down to grab me."

"Then, maybe they are real." For once, something supernatural was on their side. It was a nice realization to come to.

"Should we tell Dad?"

"No." He says immediately because there were no shades of gray for their father. You were both supernatural and therefore evil, or you weren't. He wouldn't listen to reason and he wouldn't stop to think things through.

"Good." Sam breathes, relieved.

"You ready to go?" Dean swings the bag over his shoulders and grins at his baby brother, so thankful that he was safe and happy.

"Yeah."

And sure, maybe Dean does visit that beach every so often and visits with the blonde lifeguard that saved his brother's life. They exchange pleasantries and while he thinks that she knows that he knows what she truly is, he makes it abundantly clear that he would never cross her. Heck, a few times he's even led hunters away from her trail.

He didn't trust many people; he trusted supernatural creatures even less.

But saving Sam, well that gave you pretty much a free pass.

And for Dean, there was nothing more important than his baby brother.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I hope you liked this! Please review if you have a second! _


	24. Confide

_**Author's Note: **__My apologies for how long it took to get this up. I haven't been feeling well lately and then someone I knew very well died, but finally, today, I'm feeling a bit better. To those of you asking me whether I will continue my holiday-type version of this story, the answer is yes. I will give more details about it in November. Today's prompt comes from __**magicalunicornpower **__who requested, "Sam goes jet skiing for some reason (you can decide) and it runs out of gas. Hurt Sam follows." This is probably one of the more challenging prompts I have received, but I really loved it. Thanks so much for submitting it! Let's set this during Sam's time at Stanford._

* * *

"_Sit in the reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind." _

—_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

* * *

My boyfriend is pretty clumsy.

I don't know whether this is because he's so freakishly tall or whether because he always has his head buried in some law book every time he manages to bump into something. Regardless, I always find myself taking care of him—handing him ice and even occasionally bandaging him up. It worried how easily he could get himself hurt whenever his attention was somewhere else.

I guess that's why I came up with the idea to go down to the beach. It was almost his birthday and the weather had been sunny and amazingly warm. It wasn't easy to convince Brady and his girlfriend to accompany us as finals were coming up in a few days, but hey, sometimes you had to blow off your work for some fun, right?

I should've known something would go wrong.

Something always went wrong.

Today, as I laid out on a towel, soaking up the sunshine, my eyes closed and a blissful smile on my face, I thought for a brief second that maybe we'd be okay. Sam and Brady were out on the jet skis that we had rented for this occasion and Amber and I were content to let the boys do their thing while we did ours. Then, just as I was about to ask Amber about our Lit final, Brady's voice boomed over the beach.

"Jess!"

And I knew something had happened.

I was up and rushing towards him before I could even processes anything. Sam was limping heavily, being helped by Brady. Amber was at my side and she quickly took a towel and handed it to her boyfriend who then wrapped it around Sam's now bleeding knee.

"What happened?" I exclaimed, kneeling to get a better look at the injury. It was hard to tell how much it was actually bleeding as water tended to make injuries appear worse than they actually were. Still, I didn't want to take any chances. I glanced at Amber who nodded before running back to my bag to pull out my first aid kit I kept just in case of emergency.

"His jet ski ran out of gas," Brady mumbled. "He, uh, well, a wave came and slammed him and the jet ski into a set of rocks."

"M'fine," My boyfriend grumbled, trying to shrug off Brady's help. "Really, it's nothing."

"Sam," I chided. "We should get that looked at."

"I've had worse," He assured me and then attempted to walk on his injured knee without support. He would've toppled into the sand if Brady's strong arm hadn't pulled him back. "Jess, it's fine."

Sometimes, I wondered what Sam meant when he said he had worse than this kind of injury. Everything that happened to him—from concussions to cuts—was better than something he had suffered before. But, what kind of injuries would Sam had suffered in order to shrug these off? What kind of life did he lead before he came Stanford? All my attempts to find out had been shut down and I found Sam's lack of answers more and more disconcerting with each day that passed. Yes, he was entitled to have his own secrets, but why didn't he feel like he could confide in me? Did he not trust me?

"Here's the kit." Amber said suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. Wordlessly, I took it from her and then opened it. My mother had made me enroll in dozens of first aid classes in the event I would ever be in a position to help someone. Putting my gloves on, I reached for the sterile wipes and cleaned the wound. It was fairly large, but I concluded it was really only a flesh wound. Sam wouldn't be able to walk on it for a few days, but he would recover. Pleased with this, I finished wrapping it and then smiled my boyfriend.

"Well, I guess we'll call it a day." I told the group and Brady nodded his assent.

"Let's get you to the car, Sam." Brady told his injured friend and together the made their way towards the parking lot while Amber and I moved our stuff from the beach and to the trunk of the car.

* * *

"Sam?"

"Hmm?" He glanced up from his book and I took a seat next to him on the couch and tried not to jostle his knee. It had been healing really well and I was pleased to see that he was having a better time walking on it.

"What did you mean when you said that you had worse injuries?" A flicker of sheer terror passed on his face, then was replaced by an almost rehearsed calm.

"Jess—"

"Look," I interjected softly, a smile on my lips. "I understand that you don't want to talk about your family, but you gotta give me something here." I placed a hand on his and squeezed it. I wanted him to confide in me and tell me everything about who he was before he got here. "I just . . . I mean, were you—?" I blushed, trying to think of a way to phrase this without sounding like a total idiot.

"Was I abused, you mean?" He stated it so frankly that I was startled for a few seconds. I nodded my head and he shook his head. "No, I just had a string of bad luck."

"I'm glad," I confessed. Then, quickly added, "Not at the bad luck, but that you weren't abused." He chuckled and pulled me closer to him so that I was lying against his chest. We sat there for a few minutes, enjoying each other's company. Then, softly, Sam began to speak.

That night was the first time that Sam confided in me.

That was the first night that I heard about Dean.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__I'm going to try and get back into the swing of things. Please be patient while I do so. Thanks! _


End file.
